Shinigami of the Past - ON HIATUS
by AoUsagi
Summary: L said he never had parents, so what was his childhood really like? What motivated him to take on the world as he does? This is L's story.
1. The Caretaker's New Job

**Title:**Shinigami of the Past

**Author:**Deunan4eva

**Genre: **horror/tragedy

**Rated: **M. For safety – it gets kinda graphic.

**Summary:**L said he never had parents – not really. So what was his childhood truly like? Who was he and who was Watari before they embarked on a dangerous quest to save the world? This is L's story.

_BeforeNote:_

_Please note that this story is very similar to a Ghost in the Shell fic about Aoi that I'll be getting up and running very soon. Yay – I've finally got my act together and I'm getting this one typed and up – wish me luck! Otherwise – read, review, and enjoy!_

_Happy fictioning!_

_- Mercy._

**Chapter:**1 – the caretaker's new job

As soon as Agent K Watari signed up for the job, he knew it wasn't going to be easy. He was an accomplished agent, best of his batch, despite his lack in height. But this new mission was going to be tough.

Siayku Mendez was younger than Watari by about ten year, and had been a close friend for a long time before she'd gotten married. Watari had always treasured her calm, measured demeanour, but when he'd bee assigned the task of body-guarding her seven-year-old son, he had to question his old friends motive.

He reached the Mendez's house, which was set on a suburban street in Tokyo, just as autumn was beginning to fall over Japan like a light sprinkling of gold and fiery glitter. He tapped lightly on the front door, rang the doorbell, which was his way of letting Siayku know it was him, as he had done from the day they'd met, and then, he stepped back and waited.

Thinking things through, as he often did, Watari thought about the stress the Mendez parents must be going through. Tenichi Mendez was a highly commended police officer with the Tokyo police, working day in day out at the central police station. His wife, and Watari's long-time friend Siayku, had been forced to resign from her job in the agency where she and Watari used to work together when she fell pregnant with her son seven years ago.

Watari had heard little of Siayku since then, although they sent cards and letters every Christmas to stay in touch, and that was the way things had stayed up until recently when he had been informed that Siayku was working for a different agency that dealt with undercover operations.

Now, she was currently tracking a serial killer after five previous incidents of bloody, horrendous murder. Watari had been told that the serial killer was also a hacker, and that he knew of Siayku's whereabouts. Putting the extra pressure on Siayku, Watari knew that this case was critical to be solved, and the murderer to be put behind bars as soon as possible.

Worried sick and fearing for her son's safety while she and Tenichi were at work all day, Siayku had called upon Watari for help.

And, of course, Watari had agreed without hesitation. Anything for an old friend in need of dire help and protection.

He was pulled from his wandering train of thought as the door opened, and he took in the young boy before him.

Hands on the doorknob, barefooted, slightly hunched over at the shoulders and looking cautiously out at the world from under a mop of black hair, Watari's new charge took in everything about the middle-aged agent.

Watari suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. It wasn't that he wasn't good with children – he usually got along with them fine. But this child, this boy seemed to see straight through Watari – right into his soul. Watari straightened his tie and adjusted his blazer, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

'Good morning, young man,' he said politely, trying to regain his suave, which was lying in shambles at his feet. 'Is your mother home?'

The boy, who was scrawny in appearance, had a lollipop in his mouth, which he switched from cheek to cheek without touching it with his fingers, as if considering the question while continuously scrutinizing Watari, as if he was a specimen in a lab to be observed. He regarded Watari carefully, and then, he smiled.

Watari almost fell over backwards – wow, when that kid smiled, it was like the sun shone on him like a light from heaven. He tried not to look so surprised, but the boy simply removed the lollipop with a casual, slender hand, rolling it between finger and thumb.

'You must be agent K Watari,' he said, just as politely. His voice was strangely throaty, for a seven-year-old, as if he had an on-going cold. Watari nodded, and the boy turned, putting the lollipop back in his mouth, and began to shuffle away. 'Please come in – we've been expecting you.'

Watari had never been to anywhere that Siayku had lived before, but he was immediately hit by all the familiar scents of the things that Siayku had once decorated her office with – light frangipani essence sticks burning gently, the smell of clean, fresh furniture, and most of all, the jasmine perfume she always wore.

There were other scents, as well – aftershave, cooking oils, and the distinct smell of a man. Tenichi, no doubt.

Following the boy down the hallway, Watari took in the clean house. They passed through the living room, and he saw the coffee table was littered with magazines, toffee wrappers, and a plate covered in crumbs. The TV was on, with muted volume, but the news headline screamed the words of another brutal murder.

Watari paused and watched, before realizing the boy had left him and had disappeared into the kitchen, where the incredible smell of a casserole wafted through. Low voices murmured and then, Siayku came through into the living room, still wearing and apron and oven mitts.

'Oh, Watari!' she gushed. 'It's so good to see you!' Bursting into a smile that only seemed half as bright as her sons, she ran to him and they embraced. Watari chuckled, weary of the boy watching from the entrance to the kitchen.

'Siayku, it's been too long,' Watari said, stepping away from her and nodding respectively. Siayku smiled again and introduced her son, who also bowed out of respect but didn't move from where he stood in the doorway, hanging back. Slightly hunched at the shoulders, lollipop back in his mouth, the boy couldn't have been much more than 4"3, and yet he had such a _presence_ in the room, it was almost unbearable.

_Yes, _Watari told himself. _This mission will be my greatest challenge I've ever faced._

And, although at the time he had no idea of the horror's to come, the bitter irony of it was that he was right. But then again, Watari had never been wrong – he underestimated the little boy, and that was where he'd gone wrong.

Not only that, but this was the last mission he was ever take on. And the nightmare was only just beginning…

_AfterNote:_

Just so you don't get confused, I'll only be posting my own comments about my progress of the chapters in the beginning of the chapters after them (if that makes any sense), so don't be all "what the freak are you talking about?" on me. Thanks!

– Mercy


	2. I'm Your Shinigami

Chapter Two: I'm Your Shinigami

_**BeforeNote:**_

_So – anybody even remotely like Chapter One? It's fine to say no – all critisism is welcomed, good or bad. Also, I've only seen the two live action Death Note movies and Relight: Visions of a God, so I'm bound to get some things wrong. Correct me, comment, and add your two cents worth – I'm pretty sure I say this with all my stories._

_Still...here goes Chapter Two. Enjoy!_

– _Mercy_

Two weeks into Watari's mission, and he was beginning to question himself. It was a fair enough job, but to him, it was too quiet. The neighbourhood kept to itself, and Watari didn't mind the quiet, but occassionaly, it became eerie. His charge, who he only ever called "sir", was more often than not silent, saying very little at meal times and spoke fewer words in between. Siayku had explained to Watari that the boy's disability had left him with no friends at school, and had prevented him from extending himself socially. A severe case of aspergus made the boy a refined, timid and frail seven-year-old, and he was often very closed off, even to his parents.

Watari had watched, and taken all of this in stride, taking in every detail about the boy, and the boy seemed to be studying him, as well. This hardly bothered Watari, as in his humble opinion the boy was more intelligent then the top ten nationwide college student representatives in the whole world.

Physically frail, the boy could often be found watching TV when he wasn't at school or studying, or in his room, doing homework or resting.

Otherwise, Watari found nothing odd about the boy. His raven hair was neatly combed back for school and and he was always neatly dressed, in jeans and a collared shirt or in an oversized, hand-me-down hoodie from his mothers wardrobe and caramel slacks. He was polite, and in the few times that he spoke, Watari found him to have some incredible perspective on certain situations, like who should be the next Prime Minister of Japan and why. Despite his young age, the boy was a prodigy – he was always the head of his class, no matter what it was; he could play the piano like a professional who'd been playing since he was six, even though the boy had only started lessons last summer; and in the rare times in which the boy went outside, he could be found in his fathers tennis court.

Sometimes, Watari joined in his tennis games to give him some competition, as Watari himself had enjoyed the sport in his youth, and despite his aging, he was still very good. The boy had smiled when Watari had first asked to join the game he'd been playing by himself, and had accepted Watari's offer. The fact that the boy had completely owned Watari at the game was unimportant – if Watari could learn more about the child through anything that he did, he was willing to take that chance.

Another part of Watari's bodyguarding mission, apart from learning to understand the boy and guard him with his life, he was required to guide the boy from home to school, five days a week, and then from school back to home.  
Strangely, instead of being picked up in a car, the boy had requested to walk to and from school. Watari, of course, had no objections to this, as the fresh autumn air was always welcome. So it became routine. Watari and his young charge would walk together to school, watari would wait until the boy was safely inside the school buildings, and then, Watari would walk back to the Mendez residence, where he would watch the classroom video feeds that had been installed in the walls of the classrooms.

After school, Watari would be waiting for his charge at the school gates a few minutes early, and the boy would always be the first out of the classrooms, headed straight for Watari. Watari could see the older kids, and younger ones, too, that glared after the boy. It seemed like the seven-year-old was all too aware of the looks and glares that followed him, but he kept walking, shoulders hunched slightly, bag held tightly in hands that gripped the straps so hard that knuckles turned a whiter shade of the boys ashen skin.

Then, he and Watari would walk home together, often taking a detour through one of Tokyo's many parks, where an ice cream vendour would sell all sorts of ice creams, and the boy could have his choice of ice cream. Watari didn't milk this treat – but the boy never seemed to take advantage, so neither of them took too much notice of this, but it was obvious to Watari that his charge never ceased to enjoy the afternoon treat on the way home. If anything, he found that the ice cream helped the boy to relax after the long day of constant bullying and rejection and torment from his peers.

However, nearing the end of the third week of Watari's mission, on their way home one Thursday evening, Watari found his charge particularly agitated.

'Anything wrong, sir?' he asked, but the boy refused to even look at him.

'Something's wrong,' he said quietly, almost soft enough that watari couldn't hear him. Watari, taking the boy's agitation into account, took a gentle hold on the boy's shoulder and guided him home, his stride faster than usual. If there was something that could help the boy to calm down, it would be home. Home was safe – Watari knew this from previous experiences with distraught children.

He and his charge took a faster route home, and instread of detouring through the park as they normally would, the stuck to the sidewalk that ran alongside the road, the ice cream vendour forgotten.

Watari's phone rang moments before they reached the street that led to the Mendez house.

'Hello?' Watari said, pausing and bringing the boy to a halt as well. His young charge looked like he wanted to keep going, but Watari shook his head and nodded to his charge to wait. Reluctantly, the boy bit his lip and scuffed his feet anxiously. A raspy voice answered Watari on the other end of the phone, cold and hard.

'Agent Watari?'

'Yes, that's me.' Watari said cautiously. 'Who is this?'

'Where is the boy?' the voice demanded, breathing hard as if just being in a struggle. Watari blinked in surprise, but tried not to look at his charge. If he looked, his charge would know that there was something seriously wrong.  
He suddenly realized why Siayku had asked him to bodyguard her son – why she was so concerned for his safety. She knew that she was putting her life at risk, and her family, by going after a serial killer that had been raging through the Tokyo streets. Children had lost their parents, mothers had lost their children and brothers had lost their sisters – husbands had lost their wives, and vice versa. And the killer had somehow found out who Siayku was, that she was undercover police, and had traced her home to her family. Now, instead of making innocents suffer, he would make her suffer – for she knew his secrets, and he would kill to protect them. Watari realized all of this, and racked himself on the head for not seeing it all before.  
Her family was her prize – the killer, whoever he was, would stop at nothing to claim it for himself. Watari glanced at his young charge – a mistake that he shouldn't have made. The boys eyes were large, wide and scared. He _knew_. Watari could tell.  
Instinctively, he turned from the boy, not wanting to alarm him further.

'Who are you?' he asked slowly, and the voice on the other end laughed huskily.

'Bring the boy to the house, or else I'll have to kill you both anyway.'

The line went dead, and Watari quickly went over his options as he stowed his phone away. His mission was the boy – take care of him at all costs, but he would never forgive himself if he let Saiyku and Tenichi be hurt, either. Over the past three weeks, they'd become like a family to him, as he didn't have any children or family of his own.  
Taking a deep breath, he turned back to his charge. The boy could see it in his eyes – there was no hiding that his parents were in mortal danger.

'My parents,' he whispered, and before Watari could stop him, he had spun on his sneakered heel and was sprinting for the house, care of himself completely discarded. Watari paused for a fraction of a second – the kid could put on a heluva turn of speed, that was for sure – and then, Watari shook all thoughts other than protecting the boy from his head and sprinted after him.

Watari caught up with the boy just before his hands grabbed the door handle. He grabbed the boys shouder, a little harder than he meant to, and the boy shrank back. Watari drew his gun, and turned back to the boy.

'Wait,' he said, looking into the seven-year-olds eyes. The boy's deep brown eyes betrayed no fear. 'Let me go in first. Follow me, but don't make a sound.'  
His charge nodded, and Watari very carefully turned the door handle and eased the front door open ever so slightly, and then pushed it open completely, glad that the hinges were well oiled.

The whole house had been overturned – cabinets were smashed and papers were thrown everywhere, chairs and the table had been broken and thrown across the room, probably in a desperate attempt to stop the on coming attacker. The lounge room coffee table was shattered, it's glass strewn all of the floor, the TV had been destroyed and blood smeared the walls. Someone had pressed bloody hands to the walls in desperate hope of escape, but had been dragged, leaving long, tapered fingers of fresh blood.  
Watari and his charge stepped through the mess, heading for the kitchen and dining room, where they'd most likely find their killer.

The young boy at his side supressed a choke as they entered the kitchen, and for a second, even Watari didn't believe the sight before his eyes. Siayku was strapped into a chair, awash with her own blood. Her wrists had been slit and the tendons in the backs of her legs had been sliced open. The shock alone would have slowly bled her to death, but the bloody grin that slashed her throat open would have quickened the slow, painful death.  
Tenichi was nowhere in sight.  
Saiyku had quite obviously been vicously murdered, brutally tortured, but before Watari could shield the boy from the horrific scene, his phone rang again.

'Agent Watari speaking,' he said, his voice trembling slightly. It was obvious that the killer had grone tired of waiting and had probably killed Saiyku after she refused to tell him where her son was.

'I got bored,' the raspy voice said. 'I'm like a god of deah. Her very own Shinigami.'

'Why...why did you do this?' Watari asked as the boy left his said, knelt in his mothers blood and took her hand that hung limply at her side, a look of horror coming over the boys pale face. 'Why?'

The laugh on the other end was harsh and brittle.

'Somebody doesn't hunt down a Shinigami and not suffer the consequences.'

'You're no Shinigami,' Watari growled, scanning the outside of the house through the window, hoping to catch any sign that the killer might still be in the area. If he was, Watari and his charge were still in danger. 'You're a murderer.'  
Never before had Watari felt such rage. The boy was still on the floor, his pale, slender fingers still wrapped around Saiyku's own. Watari knew immediately what he had to do.

'Wish you'd been there to save her?' the voice in his ear asked tauntingly. 'Wish you had a second chance to change the way she died?'

Suddenly, Watari saw it – a flash of reflected sun in the bushes lining the back fence just outside the kicthen window – a scope of a gun. Watari's gun was up and he fired three times before even registering what he'd done.

His charge scuttled back, away from his dead mother, away from Watari, hands clapped over his ears and eyes larger than before, as if woken from a daze. The scope in the buses disappeared and Watari saw blood spurt from between the leaves. On the other end of the phone line, the killer cried out and grunted, and the bushes rustled as whoever it was shuffled back away from view.

'Good shot...agent Watari,' the voice hissed in a breath, and Watari could hear the crunch of footsteps in the background, a slight drag in one of the steps. 'You'll...you'll live to regret it.'

And then, the line went dead once more.

_**AfterNote: **_

_Yay it's finally done! Hooray! I hope you've enjoyed it, because seriously, I need a reality check...onto chapter three, but for now, I'm-a put down mah laptop and go watch Relight2: L's Successors. Thank you for reading!_

– _Mercy_


	3. Inner Turmoil

Chapter Three: Inner Turmoil

_**BeforeNote:**_

_Wow – anybody who's seen the two live action Death Notes and any of the anime and read the books will probably pick me up on a heap of stuff, but I promise that I'm doing my best. So, anyone like it so far? Please let me know – I just had this idea that just went BOOM in my head, making some pretty messy splatters on the inside of my skull...Anyway, I shall persevere with this story until the bitter end. (Coz the end is actually pretty bitter)...so here comes Chapter Three...and a massive thank you goes out to **hamaell **and **Laimielle** for their awesome reviews and support – thanks guys!_

– _Mercy_

_Eight years later..._

As he closed the door, Watari could hear the TV going at full volume. He sighed to himself, hefting the brown paper bag he was carrying onto his hip as he locked the apartment door behind him. L must have been having one of those days. It wasn't uncommon for the youthful fifteen year old to have taken on a case with more information that he could handle. But without fail, the boy always managed to hand in a flawless report, no matter how tough the investigation appeared to other agents.

Watari thought back to when he'd enrolled the boy into a police academy at age twelve _(__**A/N: **__okay, I know that's a bit extreme, but bear with me)_, and his young charge had graduated two years later, top of his class. The sheer fact that the boy, quiet, timid, and subdued, could ace ever problem set in front of him. To test his abilities, one of Watari's senior agents had once set three rubrics cubes in front of the boy and had timed him on how long it took him to solve them. The boy had done it in one minute flat, and when asked how did he manage it, he simply told the senior agent that to figure out how to solve the problem, you had to see every side of it.

And that was what had Watari fascinated. The boy had given up everything – school, the chance of a normal life, and had undergone two years of strenuous training in hand-to-hand defensive combat, tai chi and tae kwon do, police training and study to reach the place he was at now. He'd pursued a detectives line of work, in the footsteps of his mother, and whatever the worlds best could do, he could now do ten times better.

When Watari had taken the boy from his home eight years ago, he'd only had one thought in mind: protect the boy. The seven year old had gone into shock and Watari had nursed him through panic attacks, anxiety strikes and depression. When he had a calmed after a year of seeing nothing of the world outside of Watari's apartment, he had asked Watari to continue his learning as if Watari were a private tutor. Watari was all too happy to take on this challenge, and when the boy had reach nine years of age, he'd requested to learn how to be a detective, to track his mother's killer and his father's kidnapper. Tenichi had never been found, no ransom had been set, and no sign had been seen of him since Siayku's murder. Watari suspected that he'd been kidnapped and killed elsewhere, but nothing had been said or rumoured about since the incident.  
Never one to turn someone down, as was his reputation, Watari had resigned from the agency in order to help his charge pursue his dream. He put his years of experience to use and put everything he had into helping the boy, calling on his accrued of skills and knowledge to aid the young boy. Although still fairly closed off, the boy had come to realize and accept that Watari meant him no harm, and together, they had lived in the one apartment, working on this case or that case, for the last year or so.

Watari smiled to himself as he thought of when the boy had turned thirteen, and he had disgraced nearly all of the other trainee agents in the police academy, most of whom were at least twice his age. When he'd come home to Watari on vacation, he'd confined in the elderly agent how when compared to the others, he felt so different – an outsider of the thing that he was best at. Watari had reassured him that he was simply unique.  
That had made the boy smile – smile for the first time since Watari had met him, and had said that when Watari put it that way, it didn't seem so bad. It struck Watari that the boy had no one to really be able to compare himself to – no one at the academy could spare the time to sit down and become friends with the quiet youth who sat at the back in all of his classes, listening intently and never saying a word to others other than when it was required. They all thought of him as obnoxious and self absorbed – it wasn't his fault that he had difficulty communicating with others.  
And so, Watari had suggested that when he leave the academy, the boy come up with a false identity, something that could mark himself out as unique. The boy had quipped that it would be 'defying the eyes of today's social rank.' Watari had laughed and agreed, and the boy had taken the idea to heart, and that had made him a dangerous individual.

A year later, upon graduating from the academy and putting so many others to shame with his unique skill and determination, Siayku and Tenichi's son christened himself as "L". He went out into the world more often, taking in the sights around him, listening to everything and not letting one detail slip passed him – and Watari found that by staying at the young geniuses side, L was virtually unstoppable. He'd gone from an underage college graduate, mastermind fourteen-year-old to one of the nation's greatest detective's in the short span of seven months. Three months later, L was known world wide as the best detective in the northern hemisphere, and perhaps, it was rumoured, the world.

As Watari paused in the hallway on this particular night, though, he could immediately tell that this latest case had L stumped and brought the young genius to a stand still. The aging man had left his young charge two or so hours before to go for a walk, and to give L some headspace to mull over the investigation. Because if there was one thing that L liked most, it was his personal, private space.  
Which, of course, was a clear explanation for the lack of furniture in the room Watari had spare and when he'd adopted L, had given the boy to use. It had no bed, only a desk, a swiveling desk chair, a wardrobe and a couch; the couch was, more often than not, where L slept, after so many months of not using a bed in the police academy after long nights of study, research, and taking notes straight from textbooks.

He would often sit in the large armchair in the living room with his knees drawn up to his chest or tucked up underneath him, not unlike a frog (**A.N: I'm so sorry for comparing you to a frog, L! Forgive me!**). According to L, this increased his thinking capacity by up to forty percent. Watari never argued with him – there was never anything to argue. And it never made a difference whether you argued or not, either – because when it came to being headstrong, L was the master.

Watari poked his head around the door to the living room, and gently shook the light brown paper bag of goods he'd picked up on his way back from his walk.

'Feel like a break, L?' he asked softly, catching the teenager's attention from where he was glaring at the TV, and Watari saw L's hard blue-grey eyes soften as he realized what Watari was waving at him. He unwrapped his lanky arms from his long, lanky legs, which had been drawn up to his chest and his hand fell from his mouth – L had adopted a habit when he was ten of chewing on his thumbnail, and it was one of the signs that he was deep in thought.

'What sort?' the teen replied hopefully, hopping up expertly from the armchair, shoving his hands into his pockets and following Watari into the kitchen. Watari knew that if there was one thing that could distract L from his work, it was L's irresistible sweet-tooth, one that he'd discovered from a craving for chocolate after a particularly bitter case that had ended with more innocents dead or injured than saved, and the criminal martyring himself with a bomb strapped to his chest after kidnapping a classroom of children. L had been at the school grounds after the fact, when the police, thanks to L, had apprehended the man and all the children had been released. The man had killed three of them – six more had been injured with broken collarbones, arms, fingers and one little girl had even been struck with the butt of the man's stolen handgun, leaving her concussed and in a coma. L didn't know if the little girl had ever woken up, and Watari had found his charge dry retching in a trashcan in a park a block away. He'd taken the boy home, comforted him, but nothing could calm L but the sweet taste of chocolate. Ever since then, it was an accepted fact that L could only work to his highest potential if he had something sweet to balance out the bad aftertaste that stayed in his mouth after any investigation.

Watari smiled as he thought about this, and pulled a packet of Japanese cupcakes with sugary icing from the bag as L flicked on the kettle and retrieved two teacups from the cupboard.

'Your favourite sort,' Watari said kindly, and L shared his smile with his own unique, quiet one.

Later that night, somewhere around one-thirty am, L still had the television going, but had muted the volume. Watari was fast asleep at his desk, but sleep hadn't been so kind to L. instead, the fifteen-year-old padded through the apartment, mulling over the case at hand. It was a game of cat and mouse – L was the cat, the criminal was the mouse. One important thing was that L remain the cat and give no advantages to the criminal – keep pushing him towards a corner until he could pounce on the man. He couldn't allow himself to become too distracted by anything that could allow the mouse to turn the tables and become the cat, unless the criminal had some kind of ultra-trump card that L didn't know about, and L knew all about the man in question.

But for L the stay on top, he had to focus. Cover every base. He did it best when he was alone, at night, when no one else was around to impede his headspace – and with Watari snoring gently, the TV whispering deaf words, and the whole apartment seemingly hold it's breath as it waited for L's conclusion on the case, he had a little bit a space to think.

What was the background? Where did the criminal come from? He knew all these things, and he went over his list mentally as he pulled out his laptop from behind the couch in the living room and headed towards his bedroom, detouring into the kitchen to pick up a pre-brewed cup of tea.

L's room was pretty bare, just the way he liked it. It suited him just fine to only have meager belongings when so many other teenagers out there had so much more – more _clutter_, he thought. Without all that to hinder him, he could stay focused. The key to every investigation.

His desktop computer wasn't on his desk – but the floor. L didn't quite know why, but he was much more comfortable sitting on the floor when he worked at a keyboard – perhaps it had something to do with centering his gravity. Setting down his cup of tea and laptop, he sat cross-legged on the bare floor and booted up the desktop-but-floor-situated-computer. It was easier to work with two different systems running at the same time – uploading and downloading no longer took hours at a time, and the system of either computer or laptop was less likely to go into overdrive and collapse in hysteria every time L tried to hack the simplest database. He remembered how his first computer had done that, and had never trusted the Mac format again.

Taking a sip of tea as his laptop whirred to life, L pulled open several internet pages, and began typing commands.

He hated, _hated_ inner turmoil. It drove him nuts – but was also one of the things that motivated him, like a thousand dead voices whispering into his ear, trying to get him to give up and back down – instead, it drove him harder to succeed. Which was one reason why L rarely failed _anything._

And so, L would suffer his turmoil in silence, but he would better it, he knew –  
He always did.

_**AfterNote:**_

I have to say a MASSIVE thank you to **hamaell, **Ratt9, **Pkm master13, **and all the others that have read, reviewed and given me tips and encouragement on this story so far! Thank you!

– Mercy


	4. Now A Man

Chapter Four: Now a Man

_**BeforeNote:**_

_OK, I'll say it now – writing these chapters out long hand and then typing them out is a royal pain in the backside, but I'm enjoying writing this story on the whole WAY too much to give up – besides, all those who have reviewed this story so far rock the world over, and I don't wish to disappoint. Now I know I'm skipping around the years here, but this next chapter is stepping up to where L is 17. I remember him comparing himself to Light in both the DeathNote manga's and Re-light: Visions of a God (please note I HAVEN'T seen the actual series, so I'm doing my best with what I have). To be honest, it makes you wonder how old L really IS…hmm…anyway, to all of you out there, I wish you a happy day, safe life full of happiness, and hope that this chapter lives up to it's predecessors. Happy reading!_

_Mercy_

_**P.S**__ – I don't own DeathNote. I though I should mention it before anyone picks me up for it._

* * *

_Two years on…_

L was restless. This always happened, year after year, as regular as clockwork. At the same time, same day, same month, he relived the horror of his mother's death and his father's disappearance, again and again. And no matter how he tried to change it in his memory, it was always the same.

But some things _had _changed. L was no longer as hunched over at the shoulders, as his growing muscles as allowed his bones to shape more efficiently to the shape of his body, straightening his back slowly. He still preferred to sit with his legs tucked under him, and he still had the habit of sleeping upright on a couch, and chewing on his thumbnail whenever he was deep in though. Although now, L walked tall and carried himself more like a man, and Watari would often say that what couldn't be changed had to stay the way they were, and those things that couldn't be changed on purpose more often than not changed themselves. At seventeen years old, L still had no clue as to what that meant, but he didn't let it bother him too much – he was the best-known detective in the world. He had more important things to focus on than old sayings.

Not to say that he didn't listen to Watari – although the agent was aging, he still had his pride and was a fountain of knowledge that L drank from with every new day. The conversations the two of them held were nothing like normal families – but then again, L could hardly be qualified as "normal". Watari, however, never seemed to notice this, and so, L didn't allow himself to wonder about normal family life. He had Watari, and Watari was all the family he needed.

Being the best-known detective, however, had both it's ups and downs. One good thing, he kept his identity hidden and no one knew who he was except for Watari. But the main downside was that L's gaunt figure and his shock of wind swept raven black hair stood out in a crowd. Thus, being the complete opposite of "normal". Other teenagers wore skinny jeans and headphones, their hair in high-ponytails, phone's in their hands and either high-heels or runners on their feet. Their clothes ranged from black to hot pink, baby green to red to vibrant blue. L's usual attire, however, was usually white, long-sleeved shirts and jeans and old scuffed runners, or cargo pants and his trademark white long sleeved shirts, no shoes.

Occasionally, though, he went out in disguise, to blend in with everyone else, but more often than not, he preferred to and walk about freely in whatever clothes he wished, as he didn't care about what others thought – no one knew who he was, and that was enough for him, so he could slouch through Tokyo city undetected, his raven black hair tossed carelessly in the wind.

On this day, however, L wasn't going anywhere. He closed himself off in his room, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his mind away from one thing:

His mother's murderer. His father was missing, but he may still be alive. So L could let his father take a backseat for the moment, until Siayku's killer was caught and brought to justice.

It nagged at L that he could be the best in the world, and yet have no clue about who could have so brutally tortured and killed his mother. It made his throat hurt and his eyes sting. It didn't just make him mad – it made him furious. L knew he couldn't allow himself to take it so personally, but it was so hard not to. That killer was still out there, and possibly, still killing.

Every death, every mystery the people of Tokyo, let alone the rest of the world, loaded onto L's frail shoulders kept his mind in a constant buzz, but now, everything else seemed unimportant. More and more, he couldn't stop gnawing at himself because of his constant failure to achieve his life's goal.

Watari had said to calm down, don't worry, your time will come, but it only made L all the more impatient. He could he just _let_ this happen? He was the best, the _only_ one in the whole world who could achieve anything like he'd already done, and he was going to achieve so much _more_ – but it had to wait. His mother, at this moment, was the most important thing on the planet. Everything else, he knew, _had_ to take a backseat.

If justice was a person in higher power, it would be kicking L up the arse right about now, fed up with waiting – and L was pretty fed up with himself, too – but "fed up" was a massive understatement.

As he paced the apartment that he and Watari called home, L chewed on his lip, going out of his mind. Watari, who was sitting at his desk, watched with one eyebrow slightly raised, and finally, spoke up.

'L,' he said softly, but L didn't stop pacing, only answered him with a "Hmm?" and kept pacing. Watari ran a hand through his greying hair. 'Take a break. You're going to send us both insane if you keep going in circles.'

L groaned and fell into his armchair.

'I can't,' he admitted. 'Every year, I feel I'm getting closer to the answer. And then, the moment passes. I'm left with nothing again!'

Watari nodded along, considering his words carefully before he spoke, taking in everything that L said. L was thankful for Watari's support through everything that he'd done, and although it made him feel like a little kid inside, L knew that without he would never have amounted to anything if he didn't have the old agent.

Watari smiled gently over steepled fingers. 'You should go for a walk. That always used to calm you down – get some exercise and work the jitters out of your system. Then, with some fresh air in your lungs, you'll be able to focus again, I'm sure of it. And eating anything sugary won't help, L.' He added sternly, catching sight of the Starburst that L was flipping through his fingers.

L nodded, fondling the wrapper before tossing it back into the bowl of Starbursts on the coffee table.

'You're right,' he muttered, shoving his bare feet into his old runners and pulling a jacket around his shoulders, heading for the front door. 'I'll see you later.'

As L walked down the route from his old school towards his old home, he thought. He went over everything in his mind, examining the facts, discarding nothing as useless. When he though, he would have preferred to have been curled up in his armchair at home, in front of a TV screen blurting the latest news, working his way through a decent slice of cheesecake, but this wasn't the best day for that sort of thing. The apartment was stuffy and warm, although the weather outside was cool, the clouds threatening rain, and the cold air, as Watari said, filled his lungs and cleared his mind. L reminded himself, once again, that without Watari, he'd probably have ended up dead as well or in an orphanage.

Thinking of his past, he felt that maybe, by going back to the old house, he could find clues, like any good detective returning to the scene of the crime. However, ten years was a long time, and more than likely, any clues left were of no value. But he stuck to one of his mottos: _never discard anything as useless._  
L hadn't been back here since Watari had taken him from the house – he either hadn't allowed himself or Watari had insisted he stay away from the now renovated, cleaned out and sold house.

His mother's death and he and his father's disappearance had made headline news for the first year or so after the killing. Newsreaders still speculated that L was being held hostage with his father by the murderer, or that he was alone or dead, or sold across the country as a slave to work the farms and crops.

L would often chuckle whenever "new evidence" showed up, and then only turned out to be false leads or fakes. But then, it always brought him back to his own predicament, his own fruitless search for justice.

The house itself had been cleaned from head to tail by detectives and police, swept for any signs that could lead them anywhere, but eventually, the case had been shuffled away into the back of a filing cabinet somewhere, and soon, it had been forgotten altogether. The house had been renovated and sold to an elderly couple with no TV – it was probably all the better, otherwise they'd know the house had once held a dead woman with her blood staining its floors, and a child and father had gone missing from it's safety. But L couldn't shake the feeling that there was a piece of the puzzle missing.

Whatever it was, he'd find.

* * *

_**AfterNote:**_

Thank you all again for reading and reviewing – it's all been taken to heart, and now, the next chapter will hold something *hopefully* a little more exciting. Yes – in chapter five, THE DEATH NOTE will finally come into play in L's life for the first time…(whoops! Who let that idiot in here? She's giving out all my spoilers!)

Love and peace to you all,

– _Mercy_


	5. The DeathNote

Chapter Five: the DeathNote

_**BeforeNote:**_

_Basically, there's nothing much going on, but I'd better say MASSIVE thanks to all those out there who read and reviewed this chapter, even though it was incomplete - I also say a massive sorry. I should have checked it before publishing it, but I didn't. Still - thanks so much you guys. You da best! Anyway, here is chapter 5, with, like, an extra paragraph at the beginning. It's just mainly melancholy stuff, and it's not important to the story, but I hate it when my word editor mucks up - so here is the full version! Enjoy!_

_Mercy_

_**P.S**__ – I don't own DeathNote. I though I should mention it before anyone picks me up for it._

Rain tipped itself, as if from a water blanket above the clouds, over Tokyo city, blurring the neon shop-front lights, causing people to put up their umbrellas and run for shelter. The cloudy afternoon had turned a darker shade of grey, threatening heavier rain, which was now coming down in a constant downpour.

People hurried through it, across streets, in front of cars at the traffic lights, their umbrellas brought down low as rain cascaded from the canvas tops. L, however, had no umbrella and simply sloshed through the rain, his jacket and sneakers already soaked through, his cargo's heading the same way.

He had stood in front of the old house for hours, staring, watching; as if it could open it's doors and speak to him. He wished that, if anything, _something_ would turn up. Anything to give him a lead, to give him some sort of clue.

As he headed home, L crossed through the park in a nearby suburb. The playground in the park was empty, the swings wet and covered in rain, the sand watery and clinging to his sneakers, and he wiped his feet on the grass afterwards, hands deep in his pockets. The rain pounding his back made his shoulders hunch slightly, so he wasn't as upright as he could be – it was like the rain was weighing him down, like the feeling inside his gut that told him he'd never catch his parents killer.

L brushed away the water from the seat of a swing, and let himself fall into the seat, his over-long jacket covering his butt so he didn't freeze. A single tear mixed with the rain, and slid down his face. L hated crying – he knew that it solved nothing and only resulted in people and passers-by giving you odd looks. But it had been so, so long since he'd left his dead mothers side, so long since Watari had rescued him from the hell his once safe home had become.

He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing that things could be different. When he opened his eyes, he took a deep breath, smelling the heavy scent of the rain, feeling almost comforted by it. He could remember sitting by the window when he was little, only five or so, and his mother would come and sit with him, hold his frail body and smooth down his hair, whisper that the rain was coming – she taught him how to stand outside, nose in the air, and how to smell the rain, how to watch the lightning with the lights off and the doors closed and watch the show and hear the thunder without being scared.

L looked around the park, at the playground, the streets with cars travelling fast, splashing through puddles, their windscreen wipers swishing quickly back and forth. The grass flattened and the sand pockmarked by the still falling heavy rain.

He stood, shook himself, feeling slightly more alive with the refreshment of the rain, although he knew that when he got home, he'd be chilled, drenched, and would track rain in after him. Thinking of home, he turned himself around and began to head out of the park. His roaming eyes took in everything and anything, and then…

He saw it. Lying about twenty feet away, a rectangle of black sat on the grass, as if waiting expectantly. But that wasn't the strangest thing – the weirdest thing about it, was that _the rain wasn't touching it. _Curiosity spiking his interest, L went over, knelt down, and saw that it wasn't just a rectangle, but a notebook. On the cover were two words, which read:

**D**_**eath**_**N**_**ote**_

L picked up the notebook, thinking how silly it sounded and who would have stupid enough to drop it, when it suddenly tingled in his hand. it was like he was touching another world – a fragment of it, and suddenly, he saw a flash of sky, swirling black with winged creatures swooping through the air, creatures of black and darkness. There was laughter; maniacal and possessed – it bound itself into his mind and wrapped itself around his heart, and L almost choked – it was impossible, it couldn't be real…

The shudder ran up his arm, played on his fingers and licked at the blood in his veins. And then, the weird sensation was gone, taking with it the swirling black sky, the land of grey and confusion, the laughter cutting off abruptly. But for that split second, L found himself believing in the impossible.

Opening the notebook to the first page, L saw a message inscribed into it. the page itself was black, but the writing was white and scrawled messily, as if the writer was using a scratchy quill pen or simply had bad handwriting. The message, in the same script as the cover words, read:

**How To Use The DeathNote:**

I

_The human whose name is written on this note _

shall die.

_This note will not take effect unless the writer has the persons face in their mind when writing his or her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will be not be affected._

_It the cause of death is written within 40 seconds of writing the persons name, it will happen._

_If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack._

After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next six minutes and forty seconds.

L raised his eyebrows. It was like one of those chain letters that said you'd get a brain tumour or something if you don't pass it on. L was not amused, but he couldn't help but feel that there was something about this notebook that had nothing to do with practical jokes. Tucking it into his jacket, he headed home; already feeling like perhaps, even with this insignificant notebook, he could find something every other investigator had missed.

Hope renewed, L started running.

Later that night, Watari sat, his newspaper out in front of him, cup of tea on the table next to him and the TV on, it's volume dimmed to low as a background hum. It had been quiet since L had gone out about five hours ago, but the boy's restlessness still hung in the air like a wet sheet hung out to dry.

Just then, the front door burst open and L staggered in, breathing hard and dripping wet from the rain.

'L!' Watari cried, lurching to his feet and dropping his newspaper, nearly knocking over his teacup. 'What on earth have you been doing?'

L, still breathless, didn't answer, only collapsed into the closest armchair. He didn't show Watari the notebook; instead, he kept it tucked into his jacket, out of sight. Watari went and got a towel, and when he came back, he began to start drying his shivering charge. L carefully slid the notebook from under his jacket to under his shirt. As soon as the inky black cover touched his clammy skin, it was like a spiralling radiation of warmth swelled through him, curling around him like a blanket. Watari noticed his eyes widen a fraction of a second, and as he helped L out of his jacket, he paused.

'Something wrong?' he asked, and L realized his mistake, covering it with another shiver, and shook his head.

'Nothing,' he murmured, getting up and shrugging Watari off. 'But I have an idea.'

He headed into his room, only pausing in the doorway to say over his shoulder,

'Please don't disturb me.'

And then, he closed the door behind him.

Yanking off his sodden shirt and flinging it into his laundry basket, L booted up his computer and laptop, and switched on the TV. Bathed in their light, he caught sight of himself in the medium-sized mirror that Watari had insisted he have on his wall. The flat plains of his chest and stomach were a result of natural slenderness that he'd inherited from Siayku, but his pale, ghostly skin he'd got naturally, from lack of being outside on sunny days. It wasn't that he didn't like the sun – he just preferred the dark. He pulled a towel from where it hung over the back of the chair, and rubbed himself dry, before putting the towel over his head and scrubbing the towel through his drenched hair before spreading it back over the couch. He combed his hair back with his long, slender fingers, only to have unkempt strands of it fall back into his face. Sighing, he pulled a fresh, dry shirt from his chest of draws and slid it over his head, threaded his arms through the sleeves, and tugged it down. His laptop and computer welcomed him as they booted up, and he sighed, grabbed the towel again, spread it on the floor, and then settled himself down, crossing his still-wet legs as he reach up and pulled the notebook from underneath the sodden shirt. He studied it in the light of both his computers and the TV, flipping through the pages. Every couple of pages had a black page, with the same, scrawly white writing, stating rules and laws of this so-called notebook that belonged to a God of Death.

_God of Death? _He wondered. _What kind of hoax is this?_

L read through it, intrigued despite himself, diving into a completely new and strange world that folded itself around him like massive, draping wings.

Had it been anyone else to pick it up, he thought, so many people could already be dead. If this was all true, the book could kill thousands of people when in the wrong hands, hands that would only use it for ridding the world of enemies and rivals. Less selfish people might be too scared to use it, and may carelessly toss it away. L absorbed all this information, and he drew so many different conclusions from so many different theories – the possibilities were endless.

The writing talked of a Shinigami, a "God of Death". Looking around, L saw nothing in his room other than the things he owned. Yet the DeathNote spoke of a Shinigami following the notebooks holder around. Perhaps it was someone else's, and L had simply picked it up by mistake when they'd dropped it by accident.

L wondered if this was at all real, or just some stupid prank. Still, he thought as he let his tired eyes droop and slowly fall shut. Prank or not, it was foolproof.

As the rain continued to fall, the trees whispered with the raindrops running down their leaves in the wind, a figure watched L sleep. The rain didn't touch the massive character, as it had not touched his notebook.

The Shinigami's eyes were a hard, gold brass, the skin across his body pulled tight over bones that stuck out. He was a frightening monster to any passer-by, but passers-by couldn't see him without touching his notebook, and so, they were saved from seeing the horrific phantom he was.

Soon, within the next couple of days, he would pick up where he left off seventeen years ago. He'd step back into a world he's sworn to leave behind, back into the eyes of denial of the Shinigami Realm and he would fulfil his promise to Siayku Mendez.

Nothing would be the same, ever, ever again.

Bittersweet was sure of it.

_**AfterNote:**_

This was a fun chapter to write – I can just see L in all those places, the playground, alone in his room, looking at himself in the mirror, reading about the DeathNote. Without the help of **hamaell**, Pkmn Master13, **Ratt9**, and Lamaille (_I'm not sure why I'm mentioning you in this as a thank you, but you've been wonderful to me and so supportive, I'm positive you deserve this! ^_^_) for all of their awesome encouragement and amazing reviews. You guys are fantastic.

Also, please note that the rules I included in this chapter ARE actually from the first Death Note manga, so they ARE legit, I promise! And soon, CHAPTER SIX will come into play…MWHAHAHA! (Get this idiot off stage before she uses up all our capital letters!) Later everyone – happy fanfictioning!

– _Mercy _


	6. Bittersweet

Chapter Six: the DeathNote

_**BeforeNote:**_

_I left this story for a while, when I was writing it out longhand, mainly because I was suffering from writers block. However, I've steeled myself to get it typed up and ready for , so here it is, the awaited chapter six! It'll get more detailed as it goes on (hopefully), and the plot thickens as the Shinigami "Bittersweet" reveals himself to L, and also reveals a few secrets about L's past…happy reading! _

_Mercy_

_**P.S**__ – I'm REALLY sorry about chapter five getting messed up and having to be redone and re-posted – however, ENJOY! I LOVE YOU ALL A MASSIVE HUGGY BUCH! _**(Yay for Yahtzee! I love you, Ben Croshaw!)**

The next morning, L's life changed forever. The cases and investigating he was currently looking into took a back seat to the weird and the wonders of the frightening black, leather-bound DeathNote that he kept hidden from Watari. He'd spent the whole night pouring over it, reading the rules of it, tapping his pen against the crisp, yellowed paper, wondering if it was all real.

Finally, he gave up waiting. Hacking into the Tokyo police mainframe via a backdoor that crushed three firewalls in a row, L pulled up a list of all prisoners on death row. He knew this wasn't fair – testing on humans should be out of the question, but he had to know for certain.

Camera feeds from his laptop showed L the layout of Tokyo prison, and, in particular, the cells. He found, identified and singled out a middle-aged man who was on death row, registered to be executed that very afternoon. He was in there for several accounts of murder, rape, and continuous assault. L had put the man there himself.

Taking out the DeathNote, L took a pen from beside his keyboard and held it hesitantly, aware that, according to the rules, should he write the persons name with their face in his mind, they would supposedly "die" exactly forty seconds later. Then, he opened the notebook to its first blank, pallid page, pictured the man's sneering face, screwed his eyes shut and scrawled the name before he changed his mind. And then, L started to count.  
The camera's showed the inmate wandering restlessly around the cell, and exactly forty seconds later, he clutched at his chest, stumbled for the door but collapsed before he got there, and lay still.  
Dead.  
L almost fell out of his chair – the inmate was dead, and L had been the one who'd killed him. It was…it wasn't possible. How could it be possible…?

'_You seem to have underestimated it,_' a hushed, hollow voice from behind him said. L spun around, coming face to face with a massive creature. A Shinigami – he cried out and this time, he really did fall off the chair, and landed with a crash on the floor. The god of Death had black and grey lather clothing his massive frame, with metal clasps decorated with roses and thorns around comparatively slender, if not bony, wrists.

'You…you're a…' L couldn't find the words – they wouldn't come. He realized the monster could almost undoubtedly see inside his soul – beyond his taken name of L.

'_Shinigami?_' the massive god asked, chains rattling around his neck, and gold brass eyes glistening. '_Yes. The notebook you dropped – it was in my possession until you picked it up. Now, you are it's owner. But I also have a duty to perform – so like it or not, I won't be leaving your side until it's done._'

'What duty?' L asked, gathering himself and slowly getting to his feet. 'The one described in the notebook?'

'_No,_' said the Shinigami simply. '_It's something else. Don't worry – I won't take your soul or anything. That's some stupid hoax that you humans came up with – but even though I'm a god of Death, my oath was to protect you._'

'Oath?' L said incredulously, clambering back into his chair. 'What do you mean? You aren't supposed to protect people – you're supposed to kill them.'

The Shinigami shrugged.

'_Because Shinigami choose who lives and who dies, we follow the rules laid out to us and don't question them, but we can bend them,_' he said nonchalantly; but then, his eyes hardened. '_But that is not why I'm here. I made a promise to the last holder of my DeathNote – the one you now possess._'

L glanced at the notebook on the desk, trying to calm his hammering heart. This didn't make sense – what last holder…?

'_She said,_' the Shinigami said softly, '_that there would be a right time and a wrong time to hand you the DeathNote. I'm guessing from the way you've been brooding about it all night that I made the right decision._'

'She?' L quipped. 'This was set up?'

'_In a way,_' replied the Shinigami. '_You see, the last holder knew you well before you were even born. So did I, as a matter of fact. I've waited seventeen long years to finally meet her successor._'

L shuddered. Somehow, his mothers' death and his fathers' disappearance no longer seemed like a random act of fate. Now, he was seeing a much larger picture. He could see a much larger force at play. Suddenly, an idea shocked him like a kick in the ribs, and he raised his eyes to the towering god.

'Did _you_ kill my mother?' he snarled, and the Shinigami stepped back, his eyes widening and then becoming cold and hard again – L had caught him off guard.

'_I would never bear guilty for such a crime!_' he cried, reeling back, anger burning in his eyes and seeming to make every part of his being flare up and bristle.

'Then who did?' L shouted, feeling fury well up inside of him, glad that L had gone out for the morning. 'If you're a Death God then tell me – who killed my mother?'

The Shinigami snarled back at him, baring sharp, white teeth from grey lips.

'_I can't believe she had so much faith,_' he muttered. '_How could she keep such faith when you turned out so…so different?_'

'Who?' L frowned. 'The last holder?'

'_Yes,_' the Death God replied, seeming to calm a little, but L could still feel tension rolling from the Shinigami like a wave. '_And I suppose now you want to know who she was?_'

L paused for a moment. Whatever this Shinigami wanted or felt it had to do, he had to move carefully around it. One wrong step and he would end up as dead as the inmate. The go of Death would probably have no objections in killing L, and he could undoubtedly see L's real name. This would require thinking, persistence, and treading _very_ carefully.

'If you are willing to tell me,' L said slowly. 'Then I am willing to listen.'

The Shinigami seemed a lot calmer now, and L could no longer feel any sort of anger coming from the massive god. L allowed himself to relax, too – there was no point in being tense when all you got was a cramp in the shoulders.

'_Now you're calmed down,_' the Shinigami said. '_You do remind me of her. I think you'll have inherited her smile._'

Suddenly, L's ears pricked. He remembered, somewhere, years ago, when his parents were alive, how people used to comment on his mother's smile – a beautiful smile that seemed to make the whole room brighten. L had often been told that he took after his father in many ways, but his smile was his mothers. But he'd been so young, and the shock of her death seemed to dull the memory…but then it hit him. Disbelief washed over him like cold water. It couldn't be – it wasn't possible…

'Tell me who she was,' L whispered, and Shinigami nodded slowly.

'_As you wish,_' he said. '_But first, I should introduce myself – I am Bittersweet. And the last holder of my DeathNote was your mother, Siayku Mendez._'

_**AfterNote:**_

I'll admit this chapter was a little short, but how the hell is L supposed to hold a decent conversation with a god of death? Also, all the Shinigami's lines are in italics, so you don't get confused. Though I have yet to find another Death Note fanfic with a Shinigami in it, I will persevere! There has to be SOMEONE out there who can write about Shinigami! If you are that person, drop me a line! Today I wrote up a whole plan of what happens in this story, all the events that are going to happen that lead up the actual series of Death Note, and it's going to be big! As in, BIG! I've tried my best to give logical explanations as to what happens and who L meets – but that's all spoilers – I haven't gotten that far in the story yet! But as I say, work hard, play harder!

May you pat many a kitten,

– _Mercy_


	7. Memories of a Mother

Chapter Seven: Memories of a Mother

_**BeforeNote:**_

I was pretty sure that chapter six could use some work, so I might go back and redo it – I wanted more suspense, but right now, the best suspense I have is the pins and needles in my foot, which fell asleep like, an hour ago. Anyway, here is chapter seven, which basically contains Bittersweet telling L all about L's mother, and L drawing his own conclusions. I know it's probably going to be a bit of a drag, but hey – you got to have chapters like these, right? Makes you want to keep reading to find the excitement! But still, most of this is back-story, which you may or may not find interesting. Anyhoo – bon appetite!

_Mercy_

_**PS – **__BTW – I send a BIG SHINIGAMI SIZED hug and thankyou out to __**hamaell**__, who has been a constant guide, friend, wise-worder and help. (When I say "wise-worder", I mean someone who knows more about Death Note than I do!^_^) You've been awesome help and I couldn't have gotten this far without you – or the song list you sent me. Currently, I have "L's Theme" on loop. Yay for L! Boo for Light! (Die in HELL, Light!) But I digress. Love you, hamaell! _

'_You know,_' Bittersweet said softly over L's shoulder as L made his way down the sidewalk. '_You're definitely more like Siayku than I first thought. She swore never to use the DeathNote for her own purposes unless it was vital to the protection of an innocent person. She never tried to use it for herself – not even in an attempt to rid the world of criminals and create a utopia._*****cough, Light! cough*****.'

'Then that _did_ she do with it?' L mused. He was in no danger of anyone hearing him talking to thin air, because nobody was out on this particularly chilly autumn afternoon. Watari had allowed L to keep to himself, as he knew that L was close to cracking his parents' case. L had refused to ask Bittersweet for any major help, as he was still moving carefully around the Shinigami.

'_Often times, she would keep it on her,_' Bittersweet said. '_I know the only time when anybody else touched the notebook was when she came into accidental contact with a criminal, and she only wrote his name to stop him from becoming a raving lunatic, taking her notebook and showing the world that Shinigami existed._'

L listened carefully – anything that Bittersweet said could help, not straight out but by the way in which Bittersweet said things. A tilt of the head, the hardening of a frown – L took in all of this, tucked it away inside his head, ready to bring into play later on if need be. But if there was one thing he wanted more than anything, it was to catch his mothers' killer, Shinigami or no Shinigami.

'So she was protecting you,' L said. 'Reasonable enough. She wouldn't want the man touching everyone he could with the notebook and have them all see a Shinigami in the middle of their society – I can understand the ripple effect that would have on people. She wanted justice, that's what she always told me.'

Bittersweet chuckled from over L's shoulder, his massive wings spread out above him, drifting slowly after L on the light breeze, flapping occasionally to keep himself aloft.

'_Yes. She knew the human world already had enough trouble without an new threat rearing its head._' He said. '_She wanted justice – she gave it when it was called for._'

L frowned. Shinigami weren't supposed to care about human life – to them, as far as he could tell, it was a toy to play with, get bored with, and throw away without a second thought. So why wasn't Bittersweet laughing at the memory of L's mother? It was as if the Shinigami respected her, took her seriously.

'But did she ever use the notebook in any other situation?' he asked, taking it out from beneath his jacket, flipping through the pages. 'It doesn't look like she's ever written in here.'

'_When a holder loses or relinquishes their memories of the DeathNote by a Shinigami suppressing it as the Shinigami reclaims possession of the notebook, all of the pages fade of their ink and became fresh again, ready for the next human owner._' Bittersweet said. '_I should also tell you – it's useless to try to erase names from the DeathNote with an eraser or whiteout. It doesn't work._'

'M-hmm,' L said, almost to himself, seeing his own handwriting from a week ago when he'd killed the inmate, from when Bittersweet had first appeared. There was only that single name written, and L felt disgusted as he imagined anybody using the DeathNote for their own devices, killing people with wild abandon, not caring whether their families discovered the notebook. It made him feel sick inside, and he hoped that he would be able to stop anything like that from happening.

Bittersweet dropped to the ground for a moment, and then, launched himself back into the air, unfurling his massive, impossible-sized wings as he flew up to the tops of the trees that lined the road, and L followed him across the road and into a nearby park. Bittersweet lighted upon a lamppost, and looked down at L.

'_I see no reason why people would want to kill each other, though,_' this Shinigami said thoughtfully. '_It's almost as if you don't think there's enough room for all of you._'

L looked up at Bittersweet, thinking about what life must be like in the Shinigami realm.

'What about your world?' he asked. 'Enough room up there or are you always fighting over a place to call your own? At least humans go to war for other reasons than amusement.'

Bittersweet roared with laughter, his chains rattling loud in L's ears as the massive god swooped back down to him, but to the outside world, there was only a young man standing alone on the sidewalk.

'_And how would you know about the goings-on in the Shinigami realm?_' Bittersweet asked. '_You only see your world, L – but we see both sides._'

L nodded, knowing that Bittersweet was right. Then something struck him – all week, the Shinigami had been calling him "L", instead of his real name. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Watari only called L by his taken name, and so, Bittersweet did likewise – perhaps out of respect. Bittersweet was loyal, for a Shinigami, but he was also smart. Smart enough to know that when subjects got touchy, he knew that it was best to drop them. But he was always willing to answer any obscure questions that L threw at him, and that was proving useful to L.

'You're right,' L said, starting to walk again. 'But still – don't judge people on their actions alone. Some people are different from others.'

'_That's like something she used to say,_' Bittersweet said. '_Years ago – before she even knew your guardian Watari; she used to believe that some people weren't the same as everyone else. I think she called them…"black sheep in the white flock"._'

L chewed thoughtfully on his lip as he walked. Then, something occurred to him.

'Wait,' he said, pausing for only a millisecond, hardly noticeable for anyone watching to see anything out of the ordinary. 'How long did you know my mother?'

Bittersweet was quiet for a moment, considering the question. After a couple a steps of silence, he spoke.

'_Before your mother picked up my DeathNote, I was watching her from the safety of the Shinigami realm. The fact that my notebook fell and landed in the human world where she was was completely accidental. But when she picked it up – I was bonded to her soul – not through the power of the DeathNote, but by the human she was. It sounds strange, I know. Still – I was at her side ever since. And after she gave up the notebook for your safety, I watched over her from the Shinigami realm, even though she begged me not to. I couldn't help myself._'

L looked up at the Shinigami, who gave no indication of any emotion.

'Why?'

Bittersweet's gold eyes glittered brightly with the memory, and L watched him carefully. Anything that the Death God did or said could be of value.

'_I hope you understand,_' Bittersweet said seriously. '_That should a Shinigami acknowledge any kind of feelings or emotions for a human, as in, should a Shinigami fall in love with a human, the Shinigami should crumble and turn to ashes?_'

L paused again, this time his mind taking in the new facts – this could be used to his advantage. He would definitely have to remember that in the future, if, of course, Bittersweet wasn't lying about it all. Suddenly, a thought struck him.

'If you were watching over her, why didn't you stop her killer?' he asked, something lodging in his throat, between anger and grief.

Bittersweets shoulders sagged, and his eyes suddenly dulled, as if someone had dimmed a switch behind his piercing brass orbs.

'_Because should a Shinigami extend human life that was supposed to be taken, they'd also crumble to dust and ashes. But part of my promise was also to never intervene with Siayku's human life after you were born – the other part was to watch over you as you grew and when the time was right, I was to hand my DeathNote to you._'

L reached the apartment building that Watari and he called home, and stepped through the revolving glass doors into the lobby. Bittersweet, quite literally, stepped _through _the doors, as they swung shut after L, as if the doors were nothing but air. L took the elevator up to their apartment, Bittersweet in tow – as they got out on their floor and reached their door, L turned back to Bittersweet, but didn't look him in the eye.

'_Something wrong?_' the Shinigami asked, and L slowly raised his eyes to the Shinigami that was towering above him.

'You've just given me a look into my mother's life I could never have found in any case report or file.' He said. 'Thank you, Bittersweet.'

Bittersweet nodded again, silent, his eyes seeming like he was about to shed tears and cry, but the Shinigami refused to let himself acknowledge the emotions that seemed to swell like a wave inside his chest.

_**AfterNote:**_

Yes, all right, all right! This chapter was pretty short as well, I know! I'm sorry! But hey – chapter eight's currently going the same way. It's short, but it's going to have a little blood in it…hmm – perhaps I should up the rating a notch…?

– _Mercy_


	8. Fear of the Dark

Chapter Eight: Fear of the Dark

_**BeforeNote:**_

When I was writing it, chapter seven seemed to go on forever – possibly because I was so burdened down with just about everything else that decides to happen in my life that when I DID get a chance to sit down and write the story out long-hand in an old schoolbook that never got used, I was so tired I couldn't keep track of where I was at, and had to keep going back and checking. Anyway, here it is!

_Mercy_

The man stumbled through the dark alley as thunder threatened the sky overhead. He was breathless from running – and he'd shot up about half an hour ago, and his sluggish metabolism was just starting to pick up on it. The drugs – ecstasy, ice – whatever he could lay his hands on, it didn't matter anymore. Just so long as it kept him up and running from the cops.

As he leant against the grimy brick wall of a soaring building that towered high above him, he felt a series of coughs rising in his throat and gasped for his breath. About twenty minutes ago, he and one of the many illegal gangs he ran with had held up a liquor and drug store, and had only gotten about a thousand yen before some asshole kid working in the back had called the police.  
The man had gotten away with nothing, but there was dried blood on his hands from when he'd shot the cashier at near on point-blank range. The handgun was now abandoned in a dumpster a few streets back. Still gasping for breath as the rain began to tip down on him, the man was unaware of the black, leather-bound notebook that fell from the sky. It slapped onto the wet pavement, but it itself wasn't wet – but the sound caught him off guard and he jumped almost a foot in the air – thinking he was being followed.

_Stupid ass, _he told himself. _No one's after you. No one saw you leave the store._

Looking around to see what was the cause of the sound, the man's swimming gaze finally fell on the notebook. So dizzy he could hardly stand upright anymore, he crawled on his hands and knees towards it, and he fished it out of the puddle it had landed in – but the strange thing was, _the puddle had formed around it_. He rocked back on his heels, blinking and trying to clear his vision.

'Death-Note,' he muttered, reading the titles. 'What a stupid name…who's it by…?' Flipping through the pages, he paused as he saw a single name written on the first page, the name of an infamous criminal that was supposed to have been on death row about a week ago. He'd mysteriously died of a heart attack the morning he was supposed to be executed.

'What the –' the man looked up as a shadow loomed over him, but all he saw was a hulking figure that blocked out the sky, cruel eyes burning a shade deeper than amber as it stared down at him with a look of pitiless mirth. His vision still swimming, the figure slowly came into the man's focus.

'_Sorry,_' Bittersweet said, reaching one large, gnarled hand towards the man. '_But that's my notebook – and someone already owns it._'

The man screamed, but then, he faltered – that wasn't right. The hallucinations always scattered when he screamed. But this one stayed where it was – black and white and grey – chains shackled the monsters wrists and a single manacle was clasped around its neck. The gnarled hand closed over the mans grip on the notebook, and, very gently, tugged it from his grasp. The man's jaw fell and he gasped, not believing what he was seeing, or experiencing – it was all so unreal. His sluggish, drugged brain was slowly registering that this may in fact not be a hallucination.

Bittersweet watched the grovelling snitch without mercy. He hadn't killed a human since he'd left Siayku's side seventeen years ago, and he was aching for blood. So long as he had watched the other Shinigami play games with peoples lives, taunting him to join in. Now, he could let go for a moment – touch the life he'd left behind, but then, he had to regain control. As far as Shinigami went, he was fiercely loyal, but L had sensed Bittersweet's anxiety and tension, and had told him to get it out of his system.

Siayku had told him to do that once – Bittersweet had killed ten people before Siayku had found him by using the DeathNote to track his movements. She'd never let him go again – and Bittersweet had never allowed himself to kill another human since Siayku had relinquished possession of the notebook.  
Now, Bittersweet vowed it would only be one – no more. Then, he would return to L, and everything would go back to normal. Perhaps.

The man tried to skitter away from Bittersweet, but the God only reached forward again – his hand closed over the drugged mans head, and he fastened his hold on the screaming man – then, with the flick and quick twist of his wrist, he had wrenched the mans head clean from his neck. The scream of cut off, blood spurted, and the dead, lifeless body slumped to the wet asphalt.  
Blood wept into the run-off water and mixed, sliding down the drain and into the deep sewers, as if it was nothing. Bittersweet lathered himself in the mans blood, and then, he raised his head to the rain and allowed it to slowly wash it away again. Then, feeling refreshed and alive, he unfolded his massive wings and launched himself into the air. Catching an updraft, he felt the wind ripple through his skeleton frame.  
Bittersweet felt so, _so_ much better.

_**AfterNote:**_

I know this was a short chapter – it was longer in my actual writing book. I definitely think I'll be upping the rating after this chapter…hope you enjoyed!

– _Mercy_


	9. See It Through The Eyes

Chapter Nine: See It Through The Eyes

_**BeforeNote:**_

Okay – maybe not as much action in that last chapter as I would have liked, but what can I say? I had the idea spinning around my head, so I decided to get it out – and so became chapter eight. Now for chapter nine, and I want to thank everyone out there for their reviews, helpful tips and comments. I owe you all a big hug. ^_^

_Mercy_

_**PS – **__am currently musing to the _Death Note Theme_ – thank you so much to __**hamaell **__(face it, I'm going to say thank you to you in EVERY authors note I leave!) for the track titles she sent me._

As Bittersweet swooped through L's open window, his wings brushing through the walls like they were nothing, L heard him enter almost silently from where he was kneeling in front of his laptop on the floor.

'You enjoyed that too much – I can tell,' L said softly, spinning around on his knees to face Bittersweet. 'But I guess it couldn't be helped.'

'_It was…appreciated,_' Bittersweet said quietly dropping the notebook onto the desk that L rarely used. '_Unfortunately though, appreciation comes with taking things for granted. I almost took the freedom you gave me for granted, it was hard to stop. But…I think I'll do without drawing blood again for a while. But it will happen, L – there's no hiding it._'

L raised his eyebrows slightly.

'I thought you were a God, not a vampire,' he said, and the Shinigami standing over him rolled his broad shoulders. 'I hope you can control the bloodlust. Somehow, being on the menu for a God isn't my idea of fun.'

It looked like Bittersweet was about to snap back, but he surprised L while he said nothing. Instead, it looked like he was trying to figure out the best way to say what he wanted to. Finally, he seemed to find the right words.

'_I…understand,_' Bittersweet said. '_Perhaps being a Shinigami is something that it beyond the human understanding, though – I gather from the look I got from the man I killed tonight that what they don't understand, they are afraid of._'

L scoffed.  
'That's very cynical of you – not to mention mildly philosophical.' He said, but Bittersweet shrugged, and they lapsed into momentary silence.

'_You know,_' Bittersweet said suddenly, breaking the quiet. '_I could give you the power to see not only a persons lifespan and future, but their past as well. It could help you in your search._'

L looked up from where he'd turned back to his laptop and blinked – wondering what Bittersweet meant. Hadn't they gone over this "Shinigami-eyes" thing before?

'I thought we'd agreed I was solving this on my own,' he said. 'I'm sure I can do it – just give me the time.'

'_Time isn't what you need,_' said Bittersweet. '_If anything, you need to work fast. If you don't want to lose this chance then you're going to need my help. I can see it, and yes – I know you wanted this victory to be your own, but you're so very narrow-minded. It's hard for you to keep your focus on two things at the same time when it comes to your mother's killer._'

L felt a frown carve its way across his forehead – he didn't like frowning, but he wasn't too fond of smiling, either. People gave him strange looks when he smiled. He thought it had something to do with his appearance – but Watari had always assured him that he looked fine. Since then, he'd saved smiles for rare occasions. But this time, there was no hint of humour on his face as he turned back to Bittersweet.

'What's that supposed to mean?' he quipped, and the massive Shinigami shrugged again, his shackles rattling.

'_This is beyond human control,_' he said simply, and L felt anger swelling inside his chest. '_You're never going to catch the guy without a second pair of eyes – I know I shouldn't press the matter, but Siayku's memory deserves more than her sons failure._'

'I have not failed!' L cried, glad that Watari was spending the night out at a private conference and wouldn't be back until morning. 'Don't you _ever_ say that!'

Bittersweet shook his head sadly.

'_You're just like her when she got mad,_' he said, but L had had enough. He was sick and tired of this murder case – he was sick of everything.

'Argh!' he yelled, launching himself from a crouch at Bittersweet. The Shinigami didn't have time to react, and so he stayed solid, and L collided with him, knocking him back and sending both teenager and Shinigami sprawling.

'_Have you lost your mind?' _Bittersweet exclaimed, slipping out from under L, through the floor and reappearing behind him. '_Listen, L –_'

'No, you listen!' L shouted. Almost as soon as he'd hit the floor, he was back up on all fours, his eyes ablaze with fury and his knuckles clenched so hard they were a whiter shade of his pallid skin – he didn't care whether Bittersweet tried to kill him. The God would have it coming. 'All my life I've hunted and searched – putting criminals behind bars in the hopes of catching the son of a bitch, becoming known as the worlds best detective – all for what? Now you come into my life and tell me I've been doing it all for nothing! That's it's beyond me or anyone else to avenge my mother!'

'_Calm down!_' Bittersweet commanded, but L wasn't listening anymore.

'If you're so keen to do your duty – here's another duty for you! Go back to the Shinigami realm, forget all about my mother! Forget about me – everything! _Just get out of my life!_'

L turned and ran for the door. his anger and the pain he felt was welling up inside of him, pounding against his chest like his heartbeat, wanting to burst from his chest – it hurt so much he wanted to be sick. It hurt his heart, and as he stuffed his bare feet into his worn runners and nearly tripped down the apartment stairs, he was glad he couldn't feel the Shinigami's presence following him.  
With that reassurance, he ran out into the night.

L ran like he'd never run before. All he wanted was to rid his life of that wretched Death God. He ran so long and so hard that he was in the city streets within minutes. Breathing and blowing hard, he pushed himself onwards, the tears of anger mixing with the rainwater and crying down his face. When he finally stopped, back to a brick wall as he gasped and gulped for breath in the sweet scented rain, all he could do was choke on his anger and his tears, and all he wanted at that moment was to be a little kid again. Naïve and innocent, not knowing what horrors that world held. Now, all he could think about was how Bittersweet was right – he was going to fail. How could he ever forgive himself for allowing his own downfall, let alone it being to the murderer of his mother?  
The ran smudged the cityscape around him like a wet, running painting, blurring all the neon lights into long bars, all the traffic on the streets beeping their horns at each other tog et a move on, all the pedestrians with their umbrella's up and their heads bowed to the wind. The constant downpour was driving everyone under cover, and as the water dripped down the back of his now-sodden shirt and through his hair, which was spiked at odd angles due to the rain, he headed into an alley, where the rain was stopped by overhanging canvas's and outcroppings atop the building that soared high above him. Of course, when he realized just how dark this place was, he immediately wished that he hadn't come down here at all.  
Three men, all of them about middle-aged, burly looking bikers, slunk from the shadows. L was caught up in his own misery that he almost didn't hear them approach.

'Hey, kid,' one growled, a long iron crowbar slung across his broad, thick shoulders, a nasty smirk plastered over his grimy, bearded face. 'You're in bad territory here, buddy.'

'And that means,' said the second, a dirty grin exposing yellowed and chipped teeth pulling itself across his face like a caterpillar. 'That we can fuck your shit up for trespassing.' He had a long length of chain draped around his neck like a woman would have a feather boa, and L shook himself, told himself to focus – he needed to think, and he'd come to the complete wrong place to do so.

'I…' he began, trying to come up with a suitable lie, since "I was pissed at my Shinigami" didn't really sound like a good line to try, just as the third guy came up from behind him and smashed him in the back of the head. L cried out and went sprawling, landing on the hard, cracked tarmac, the rainwater on the asphalt causing him to scrape his palms as he tried to break his fall.

How could he have been such a brick-head? He asked him. Wandering into a backstreet, alone and at night where there were undoubtedly child molesters wasn't the best idea he'd ever come up with – _and_ he was completely unarmed and unprepared for a fight, which made it all the worse.

The first guy came down at him with a hard, steel-like fist, which connected with L's face as he tried to push himself up on his scraped and cut hands, and L felt the explosion of blood in his mouth as the blow was landed. Suddenly, the wind left his lungs in a _whoosh_ as one of the bikers kneed him in the stomach.

He tried again to get up, but the third biker came and dragged him up from behind, hoisting him up by his shirt before L could try to defend himself against the attack. Watari had trained him, on top of all the academy training, how to defend himself and how to fend off others, and at that moment, a single piece of advice came back to L, something Watari had first taught him.  
_Avoid using your fists as much as possible. If you are attacked from behind, don't try to turn on your attacker – use your elbows to the best of your ability.  
_His elbows – L took a deep breath of air, which hit his lungs like a hammer, but then he thrust back with all his might with his elbows, and heard the satisfactory _oomph_ as the biker was winded, and L swore he heard at least two ribs crack. The grip on his shirt was lost abruptly and L tugged himself free, launching himself at the first biker, who was swinging the crowbar like a baseball bat.  
L slammed into him and showed his elbow into the guys' neck, and brought his knees up as he collided with the man, and one of his knees hit home, landing straight into the chest of his attacker. The assailant went down, but before L could turn to see where the last biker had gone, a thick, heavy chain looped around his neck and pulled taught. Choking, L was hauled off his feet as the second biker tightened his grip. L's hands clawed at the chain, but he could already see black spots in the corners of his vision, and all the breath was sucked out of him – he was gaping like a fish out of water, when he suddenly heard the gut wrenching, sickening howl.

He couldn't see it, but he felt the massive Shinigami swoop overhead, and he managed to glimpse something dangling from Bittersweet's hand – the DeathNote. He'd brushed the biker with it as he'd flown by, and now, the biker's grip faltered, and L fell free, ducking beneath the chain.  
The biker screamed at the sight of the horrific Shinigami – and L realized how accustomed he'd grown to seeing Bittersweet that he was almost surprised the biker's reaction. L had fallen to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath as Bittersweet banked sharply at the other end of the alley, closer to where L and the bikers were, and he landed, immediately sinking into a fighting stance. He roared like a lion, the hackles of leather that collared his neck bristling and shaking, his chains rattling together, his eyes wide with a burning fury. The biker screamed again and ran, stumbling over his fallen friends for the alley. Bittersweet took no notice of him; instead, he strode to L and took the beaten teenager into his arms, and pressed the DeathNote into L's hands and offered him the large, twisted pen from his belt.

'_Hurry,_' he said, and L blinked almost incoherently at the notebook. '_You have to right his name, before he brings anyone back here._'

L managed to grip the pen, his hold trembling on it, and let the DeathNote fall open. He stopped – realizing the vital thing he was missing.

'I….his name…' he murmured, and Bittersweet shook his head.

'_Yashoka Ishikawa,_' the Shinigami said, and L coughed up blood, leaning over Bittersweet's massive hand to spit the blood onto the tarmac, where it merged with the rainwater. Then, blinking and trying to clear the fuzzy patches at the edge of his vision, L wrote the name in shaky writing, and Bittersweet nodded in satisfaction, and took both pen and notebook from L.

'_I'll do the_ _rest,_' he said, and then preceded to write the mans name another six times, and L struggled to try to sit up, but the Shinigami stopped him with a large, gnarled hand, and then said, '_he'll die within a minute, now – get hit by a car, no one will suspect anything as far as he's concerned. He was on drugs anyway – no one would believe him, even if he did get them to listen._'

Somewhere, just beyond L's full hearing, as he knew he was slowly blacking out after the fight, he heard the sudden screech of brakes and several women scream, and a startled man's yell that was abruptly cut off.

'The…DeathNote's right…right on time,' he said through clenched teeth, feeling sickened at the thought of it. Bittersweet chuckled and lifted him up, clean off the ground.

'_Yes. And now, you're going home. I may be a god of death, but I know you're not supposed to die here. Not that I'm going to tell you where you are going to die, either – I'm not allowed._'

'You should…you should be dust…' L ground out as Bittersweet spread his massive wings once again and launched himself into the air, still carrying L, and soaring high above the buildings. No one would be looking up – not since there was a terrifying car crash and death down on the streets below.

'_I didn't extend any human life – it was all completely within the rules,_' Bittersweet said nonchalantly, and L let out the breath he'd been holding in for what seemed like forever.

'Just…nevermind,' he sighed, and let go of himself, slipping into blackness that wrapped him into a blanket of silence.

_**AfterNote:**_

This was definitely a fun chapter to write – I enjoy slipping passed the rules, and making Bittersweet do it is even more fun. I don't want him to die, and I don't think anyone else does, either, because everyone who has commented or reviewed has all complimented me on how awesome Bittersweet is for a Shinigami. Thanks, guys. And don't worry – there's plenty more Bittersweet coming!

– _Mercy_


	10. The Promise, The Gift

Chapter Ten: The Promise, The Gift

_**BeforeNote:**_

For anyone who didn't like that last chapter – I apologize, because I suck at writing fight scenes. But hey – that's what practice is for, right? And, OMFGWTFBUTRCUP! Misa dies on Valentine's Day next year! NOOOO! (Don't die, Misa! We love you!) Yeah, sorry – I just found out because I want to find out how old Mello was, and I stumbled on a whole bunch of other random stuff, including this. Heh, here comes chapter ten – enjoy!

_Mercy_

_**PS – **_I apologize for the atrociously long wait between chapters – _Mortal Coil _came out and I've been going through a Skulduggery Pleasant phase – hell, I've even signed up to the Munchkin Army! I have a Munchkin! YAAAAAAY! *A-HEM!* anyway…

Also – the beginning of this chapter was inspired by the song "Anthem of the Angels" by Breaking Benjamin, just so no one dobs me in on that one before I can say "I don't own either the song or the band, but I love them very much."

* * *

When L woke, he was greeted with white walls and rain lightly tapping the window. As the antiseptic smell hit his sinuses, he blinked in the dim light, and looked around – green figures illuminated the black screen on the stand at his bedside, a soft beep registering his heartbeat. L sighed, feeling his sore ribs ache. He hated hospital with a burning passion.

It was almost completely unsurprising to see that Bittersweet had made himself comfortable on the cot across from L's, lazily watching the rain outside, seeming half-asleep. Nothing like the unholy terror that had rescued him from that biker. The Shinigami shook himself awake, sensing L's movements.

'_How're you feeling?_' he asked, and L let his eyes drift closed momentarily as he shrugged one shoulder – his other one bandaged.

'Stiff and sore – good enough for you?' he replied, and Bittersweet chuckled, and his eyes swept around the room, and L followed his gaze as the Shinigami spoke again.

'_You're in a private ward. Watari wouldn't allow anything else. When he came home to find you lying in the floor, he called an ambulance. I stayed with you, but there was nothing I could do for you without breaking any kind of Shinigami rule. You're pretty lucky you know how to fight – you took a heluva beating out there._'

L sucked in a breath slowly, registering the pain slowly – from his ribs, to his collarbone, to his shoulder – he must have dislocated something – to his throbbing wrist. Probably a sprain – nothing a good week of recovery couldn't cure.

'How long have I been out?' he asked, and Bittersweet took his turn to shrug.

'_Three days. The doctors lightened the IV dose two nights ago – didn't want you to fall in a coma or anything._' He said, nonchalant – had he been anyone else, L would have demanded to know why they didn't seem to care, but in Bittersweet's case, he trusted the Shinigami – besides, Bittersweet knew when he was going to die. '_They wanted to try to coax you back into consciousness or something – but they shouldn't have worried._'

L shook his head.

'Well, the doctors did their best – and they aren't Shinigami, so it doesn't matter what you know, they couldn't have been sure.' He reasoned, but Bittersweet chuckled, the chains on his shackles shaking and clinking together.

'_Their loss,_' he said softly. '_Pity they don't all have a Shinigami._'

'Shinigami like you could only come down every hundred or thousand years, Bittersweet – you can't blame them.' L said, and Bittersweet nodded.

'_Though, if there's one thing I can't stand,_' the Shinigami mused. '_It's a pushy Shinigami. You know how hard it is to retain sanity when all they yak into your ear about is extension of life and death of tiny humans and the like? Humans are nothing like us – that's what I find so intriguing about humans. Just another reason I was watching down on the human world until it was time to drop my notebook again._'

L chuckled with Bittersweet, sharing in his joke, and then, he looked around the room, feeling his stiff neck complain, and then looked down at himself. His white hospital smock was flimsy and thin, and as he looked down his shirtfront, he saw bandages wrapped around his midriff as well as his shoulder. Judging from the pain, he was guessing at least one broken rib. Well – he wouldn't be sitting like he normally would until that healed, he realized.  
Otherwise, he seemed relatively unharmed and injury-free. Bittersweet stood from where he'd been lying and stretched – L wondered briefly if Shinigami ever had sore backs from lying awkwardly, but stopped himself before he got into it too deeply. He had more important things to worry about.

'_You'll need a few more days rest, I'd say,_' Bittersweet said wisely. '_I'm no doctor – but even I know that otherwise, you'll never catch your killer, with or without my help._'

L sighed, knowing that Bittersweet was right. He hated it when he couldn't come out on top, always be the one who was right – that was one thing about himself that surprised him – how damn childish he could be. L had always fought for justice, and no matter what the outcome, he had always been on top, always been the winner. It was that moment when he realized how immature he sometimes acted, and three days ago had proven that. It had also proven that running away from a situation didn't help anything, it only got either you or someone else hurt.

'I don't want to go through this again,' he said softly, not meeting Bittersweet's almost emotionless eyes. 'I'm so tired of riddles that I can't figure out, codes I can't crack.'

'_I would offer you what I offered Siayku and you before, but you seem pretty tired about that, too,_' Bittersweet said, and L sent the Shinigami raised eyebrows, and the massive Death God shrugged.

'You offered her the Shinigami eyes?' L asked. 'And the other ability? The seeing-peoples-pasts-one, too?'

Bittersweet nodded, and L considered what the Shinigami was offering. Before, he'd been angry and blinded by his own stupidity – now, the only thing that was blinding him was the pain that radiated from the back of his head, where he'd been hit by the third biker in the alley three nights ago. Now, he could feel himself actually leaning towards the idea of being able to see who everyone really was. He chewed absently on his thumbnail, a habit he'd picked up a few years back and never really grown out of, and tried to concentrate. If he did have the eyes and Bittersweet's power, he could catch his mothers' killer easily – but at what cost?  
Bittersweet drifted over, and handed him the notebook.

'_Thought you might want that,_' the Shinigami said softly, and L ran his hands over the smooth leather surface. He sighed, and flipped the notebook open to one of the pages with a few of the How To Use The DeathNote rules in it.

'"If the holder of the DeathNote accepts the Shinigami eyes, their remaining lifespan will be cut in half",' L read out loud. 'And it says that even if ownership of the notebook is relinquished, the human, although they will forget everything about the DeathNote, and eyes and the Shinigami, they will still only have half their lifespan.' Bittersweet nodded along with him as he read.

'_Yes there are a few downsides to the DeathNote and it's powers, but so long as I remain at your side, almost nothing can hinder you – and the eyes don't hamper anything you think, feel, say or do. That's all they do in return of showing you someone's name and lifespan – they take half your remaining years and place them on the Shinigami's years left._'

'As if _that's_ not much of a downside, is it?' L muttered sarcastically, and Bittersweet chuckled. 'And you get what years I lose due to the eyes?' A shrug from the Shinigami, along with a shake of his head.

'_Hey – I'm just your Shinigami,_' Bittersweet said. '_The decision is yours, and yours alone. No one should influence you to do something against your will. And, knowing both you and your mother, no one _can_ do that to you._'

'And if I give up the notebook, everything – I'll just forget that I'm supposed to die halfway through my life?' he asked, and Bittersweet nodded again. It wasn't as if they hadn't had conversation similar to this before, like they hadn't gone over the whole thing of "giving up the notebook and forgetting you were a murderer", but L was comforted by Bittersweets honesty. The Shinigami withheld no answers to the numerous questions that L asked, but his bottomless eyes always seemed steeped in mystery.  
Finally, L lay back in the hospital bed and sighed.

'Why are you offering me?' he asked. 'Apart from the fact you want me to die young so you can live longer?'

Bittersweet laughed, his chains rattling, and then turned serious, and cocked his head to one side, considering.

'_Hmm…probably because when I offered the eyes to Siayku, she saw so much more. Sometimes, she saw good things, things that made her cry with joy – and others, she saw horrific things that woke her in the night. I've seen those things, too. Perhaps,_' he said softly. '_I want you to see the world for what it really is – and show you that you're not the biggest fish in the pond._' L cracked a stiff smile.

'Of course I'm not,' he chuckled, his fingers tracing over the pattern of the leather on the DeathNote's cover. 'But I _am_ the world's greatest, most sought-after detective.'

'_You may be the best – but don't let it go to your head. The gods in the Shinigami Realm are probably having a heluva time watching you ponce around like this, and have me drag after you in a desperate act to shrink you ego,_' Bittersweet said seriously, but L knew that the god was exaggerating. '_And anyway, just remember – someday, you may regret all this._'

L thought for a moment. 'So…what would someone else in my shoes do?' he asked, and the Shinigami cocked his head, taking his turn to think.

'_Hmm…should they take everything they could from the DeathNote, and then have everything turn out the wrong way, they would most likely try to get rid of it._' He said. '_I think they'd give it up and send their Shinigami back to the Shinigami realm._'

'And if they made the eye trade,' L said softly, his thumbnail between his teeth. 'They'd still only have half of their life left, right?'

'_Correct._' Replied Bittersweet, and the rain outside was beginning to come down harder. L looked out the window, hoping that Watari was all right.

'_If you're worried about Watari, don't be,_' Bittersweet said quietly, as if reading L's exact thoughts. '_I'd gotten you into your room, and laid you on the bed when he found you – he thinks you managed to crawl back by yourself. So if he asks, just nod and say yes._'

'Hmm,' L smiled to himself. 'I was hoping you'd say something like that – in honesty, I didn't know whether to lie to Watari, or tell him the truth.'

'_The lie would be more believable,_' Bittersweet observed. '_And the people who matter know the truth – you, especially._'

'Watari's just as important!' L snapped, lifting his tired eyes to Bittersweet. 'He matter's more than anyone too me.'

'_I know – _' Bittersweet said calmly. '_All I'm saying is that maybe it'll become necessary to have him know – but that will come in time. And you're lucky to have him,_'Bittersweet's once bright eyes seemed to dull, his shoulders falling slightly. '_Siayku didn't always have Watari, like you do._'

L stayed silent, his thoughts returning to his mother. If she had been as talented as Bittersweet made her out to be, then the gift of the Shinigami eyes would have aided her beyond anything else. Perhaps…no. L knew, at last, what he had to do. He had made his decision.

'Bittersweet,' he said, looking up at the monstrosity of chains and leather before him, and the massive Shinigami turned his gold-brass eyes onto the teenager. 'Promise me something.'

'_Dangerous words,_' Bittersweet chuckled. '_But go on._'

'I'll make the trade,' L said, hesitating for only a moment. 'If you promise that when all this is over, and I mean really over, you'll take back the notebook, no matter what happens.'

Bittersweet was taken aback – his eyes filled with surprise, but then, they hardened, and L knew that even though it hadn't happened yet, the deal was done.

'_All right,_' Bittersweet agreed, holding out a long, bony and gnarled hand for L to shake, and L took it. '_I'll do it._'

L closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a strange, cool sensation brush over his skin, like the fluttering of a moths wings – then, he let go of Bittersweet's hand and opened his eyes, and saw a whole new world.

* * *

_**AfterNote:**_

Dun dun duuuun! Suspense! (Which I'm no good at writing, but you guys seem to like it…) ANYWAY! Who wants another chapter up, within the next two days? Yes, as impossible as it seems, I can do it. I think. Anyhow! I sincerely hope that you've enjoyed the well-awaited chapter ten as I have enjoyed gathering writers block for it! Thank you!

– _Mercy_


	11. A Boy and His Shinigami

Chapter Eleven: A Boy and His Shinigami

_**BeforeNote:**_

All-righty, first off, I need to give a MASSIVE (I really like using that word in this story) Shinigami-sized hug to all the reader's out there who have stuck with the story so far. It's been hectic to write but I can't deny that this has got to probably be my best fanfic yet. I've gotten some awesome responses to my other stories, but I have to say – I didn't know that Death Note was so incredibly popular. So thank you, to everyone, who has read, reviewed, and asked for more – you're all so very beautiful.

Yes, hamaell, especially you.

_Mercy_

_**PS – **_Has anyone noticed how some of the weirdest stuff comes up on your shuffle list on your iPod/mp3 player? Yeah…me too…

* * *

The day that L left hospital, he couldn't help but try out his newfound power of the Shinigami eyes. It was like a finger or a bruise he hadn't known was there before, and couldn't resist prodding and poking it to find out what it was used for or why it was there. He looked at the life-spans of nurses, other patients, doctors, completely random people on the street – all of them were different, but all the life-spans hovered above the owners head like glowing fireflies. L marvelled at how he could understand the jumble of numbers, and Bittersweet explained that even the Shinigami saw the life span of a person as a jumble of letters, but could understand what it meant. When Watari came to pick L up, though, L caught sight of himself in the reflection of the car window – and saw his eyes burning the same copper-gold colour as Bittersweet's. Cursing under his breath, he ducked his head low before Watari saw him and reverted back to his normal vision – his eyes felt odd, as if they no longer fitted inside his head properly. He and Bittersweet were going to have to have a heart-to-heart chat when L got home.

The ride back was, for the most part, quiet and extremely uncomfortable. L couldn't help but wonder if Watari was mad or not, but when he snuck a look at Watari's face, the aging man gave no sign of any emotion. Finally, though, Watari broke the silence.

'What happened, L?'

L was quiet, feeling small, vulnerable – he hated feeling like this. He didn't feel like the world's greatest detective, solver of many an unsolvable case. He felt like a child, being scolded for doing something wrong. He didn't know how to respond – once again, saying that his Shinigami was trying to make him die young didn't really sound like a good approach to take. It didn't seem plausible that Watari would believe him, and L knew that he could never show Watari the DeathNote.

'I…' he began, but trailed off. He couldn't pull together a half-decent sentence, let alone a lie. What was he to tell Watari? He went for a walk in the rain, which for L, wasn't too unusual, and went looking for a fight with some street thugs only to get the crap beaten out of him, and then crawl back home? Not so much his style. L didn't go around picking fights…at least, he didn't think he did. Yes, he'd infuriated Super-Intendant Investigators and had insulted judges by turning phony facts on their heads, but L had never picked a fight. He could feel Bittersweet's presence flying overhead, keeping watch from above as Watari drove.

'I was frustrated,' L said softly. 'I wasn't thinking – all I wanted was to get away. I was stupid in my actions, Watari. I am sorry.'

Watari was silent for a while longer, and L wondered if he was even bothering to listen – no, Watari would be listening. L depended on Watari – he knew his caretaker would always be listening.

'I thought you were dead, when I saw you lying there,' Watari said quietly, a hard edge to his voice that, if it had been a solid thing, would have cut L like a knife. 'Did you have any idea how terrified I was, when I had to call an ambulance and explain how I'd found my nephew half-dead in his room? How scared I was when the doctor came out of the emergency room, holding your diagnostics report?'

L shook his head, keeping his eyes low. Being berated wasn't something he took kindly too – whenever someone tried to better him, he'd turn his or her words back on them with simple fact. He couldn't let anything cloud his vision, but Watari…Watari was saying the truth – and L knew it. Watari's words cut through L's defences, striking home with hard, shell-shocking blows. And they _hurt_.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered again,' and Watari narrowed his eyes at the road in front of them.

'I can hardly treat you like a child, L,' he said, and L nodded along. 'Soon, I'll no longer be your guardian and you'll be going out into the same world that you've worked so hard to make a better place. That same world that only knows you by name and reputation – not how you look.'

L rubbed his eyes with a balled-up fist. He wasn't going to cry – he couldn't let himself, but he felt a headache coming. The Shinigami eyes seemed to be taking longer to settle than Bittersweet had said they would. After a moment of silence, he spoke.

'Watari?' Watari raised his eyebrows.

'Yes, L?' he no longer seemed angry – deflated seemed to be the appropriate way to describe him – perhaps ready to listen.

'If I tell you something, can you keep it a secret?' L asked, and Watari gave him a sideways glance. L contemplated telling him everything, about the DeathNote, which sat in his bag at his feet, Bittersweet – everything, but then thought the better of it.

'Of course,' Watari replied. 'You know you can trust me with anything.'

L took a deep breath, wondering how to phrase what he wanted to say. In a moment of quiet, he had it.

'I have no doubts, now, that I can find my mother's murderer.' He said, and Watari blinked; the Watari version of complete astonishment, but he stayed silent. 'But I need your full co-operation – no holding back on me.'

As they pulled into the underground car park of the apartment building, L's aging guardian nodded slowly.

'I won't. All I ask in return is any insight of your own findings, L,' he said seriously. 'I want justice found for your mother as much as you do.'

L considered for a moment.

'Of course,' he agreed with a small smile, and he heard Bittersweet chuckle softly from outside the car window. 'I won't exclude you from anything.'

It was a lie – and L knew it.

As it turned out, finding his mother's murderer using the Shinigami eyes was harder than he first thought. Going around with burning ember eyes and his own trademark look wasn't exactly in the top ten ways to be inconspicuous. L had to hide himself whenever he used the eyes, peering out at people from floors above them in crowded plaza's, with Bittersweet loyally scouting for him, keeping watch for any passers by who got too close. Everything in L's vision was a glowing topaz, and everyone he looked at had burning white numbers and names drifting above their heads; L saw so many people's pasts and their deaths. Some were so horrific he was dry retching for half an hour; others so peaceful it made him want to cry.

About a week later, however, something seemed different to him as soon as he stepped in the front door to the apartment. Instead of Watari sitting alone in his usual armchair with a cup of tea sitting on the coffee table next to him, Watari was in the kitchen, and there was an incredible smell wafting through the dining room. But it wasn't that what made L stop cold as he walked into the living room – he stopped so fast that Bittersweet almost walked straight into him.

There were two young boys, about eight and nine years old, playing on the living room carpet. One was smaller, with a mop of white, not-quite-curly hair, and he was sitting with one knee brought up to his chest and an arm wrapped securely around it, the other leg folded beneath him. He was working his way around one of L's old Rubik's cubes, one that L had solved in thirty-one seconds flat at age seven, soon after Watari had adopted him. The other boy, the older looking one, had honey-gold hair hanging around his face. He was taller, and was flipping through a stack of Watari's magazines – and neither of them looked up as L entered, either out of boredom or concentration.

'Mello, Near –' he said, not yet noticing L standing in the doorway, and the two boys diverted their attention to the aging man. 'Please go wash your hands for dinner.'

Both boys nodded and got up, and L saw the smaller boy still playing with the Rubik's cube – three more twists, and then he set it down, all sides completed. As the boys headed towards the bathroom, L followed Watari through into the dining room.

'Watari,' he said softly. 'What's going on?'

Watari set down the dish, and then turned, realizing that L was home.

'Oh, L – I meant to call you, but I've had my hands full for the whole day,' he said, taking off the oven mitts and setting them aside. 'These two boys – Mello and Near, were found wandering though one of the department stores, looking lost.'

L blinked in surprise, and Bittersweet growled softly, his hackles raised – and L sensed that the Shinigami didn't like the prospect of having two mischief makers running around when L's DeathNote could be found and Bittersweet exposed – L concurred with the feeling.

'So you brought them back here?' he asked. 'Why?'

'Because otherwise, they would have been sent to one of the orphanages – and you know Japan isn't known for it's orphanages. I took them from the police station because I couldn't bear to see them sent somewhere despicable. They'd been out on the streets for about five days, L – I couldn't leave them there.'

L's eyebrows cocked as Watari set out the cutlery. Although he knew that Watari was doing a very chivalrous thing by taking in the two children, he wasn't all too thrilled by the fact Watari was taking in strange kids off the street – for all they knew, Mello and Near could have been shoplifting. Or worse.

'Of course, L, you should have a say in this, too,' Watari said seriously. 'But I had to make a decision –'

'No, Watari,' L cut him off. 'You did what was right.'

'Indeed,' Watari smiled slightly, obviously glad that L could see his perspective. 'And both of them are in awe to be in our company. Apparently, it isn't every day they stay under the same roof as a world-famous detective.'

L smiled – maybe it wouldn't be too bad, so long as neither of the children went snooping in his room and got their hands on the DeathNote, and so long as he could have time to think and space to breathe, he was pretty much fine with it.

Just then, the two boys came back, the taller one wiping his hands on his two-sizes-too-big black T-shirt, and the smaller, white haired boy drying his hands on a paper towel. They both stopped cold when they saw L, they eyes like saucers. He suddenly felt very self-conscious, and he blinked – unsure how to react.

'_Well say something,_' Bittersweet chuckled, nudging him gently from behind, but not enough for anyone to notice the back of L's shirt seemingly moving by itself. '_Mr Detective-of-the-world._'

At that moment, L wanted nothing more than to kick the Shinigami, but he refrained from doing so, and instead, he shifted uncomfortably. Watari, however, went over to the two boys, took them by the shoulders, and guided them forward.

'Mello, Near,' he said, nudging the children closer to the dining table. 'This is L. L, this is Mello –' the blonde taller one, '– and Near.' The smaller, white haired boy.

L managed to step forward and he held out his hand, realizing he was trembling inside – why the hell did he feel so…insecure?

'Um…it's nice to meet you,' he managed, and Near was the first to shuffle closer, and extended his own hand, smaller in comparison to L's, his white hair falling in front of his shy eyes.

'It's a pleasure to meet you, too, L,' he said, and L shook his hand, hoping the eight-year-old couldn't feel his hands trembling ever so slightly. Then, Mello stepped forward, too.

'Yeah…uh, hi,' he said, and L also shook his hand, taking in everything he could about the two boys. Immediately, he came to a conclusion – they were complete polar opposites. Where Mello seemed restless and loose, Near was calm and reserved. Mello looked like he was the sort of kid to beat up someone younger than him in the playground, whereas Near was more the sort who seemed content to sit somewhere quiet and read without bothering anyone, almost completely unemotional.

Bittersweet chuckled again.

'_Looks like we've got a challenge on our hands._' He said, and L felt slightly better as Bittersweet had said "we" and "our". It made him feel like he wasn't alone in a world Watari could neve see. L considered Bittersweet's words as Mello, Near and Watari sat down at the table, and L managed to move himself to join them.

_Yes,_ he agreed, but didn't voice his thoughts. _Sounds like fun._

_

* * *

_

_**AfterNote:**_

Well, I hope that kind of satisfies everyone's want to know about my cliffhanger in chapter ten – I know this chapter is probably not as good as it could have been, but I'm trying to do my best to get it all out so I can move on to my next chapter.

BTW – after chapter twelve, please expect an extended break, as I've just about caught up with my long hand writing. I'll be writing more as it comes – thank you all so much for being such great readers! Yay! Chapter eleven is finally done! On to chapter twelve!

– _Mercy_


	12. Changing Hands

Chapter Twelve: Change of Hand?

_**BeforeNote:**_

I finally knuckled myself in the face and got to writing this chapter, because I know it's waaaaaaaay over due, like a certain Japanese assignment I once had to do…but anyhow – I'm back, and I know I said this story was pretty much on hold, but that was because of my other DN fic, **My Autistic Brother,** and have been hammered and pressed and beaten over the skull for updates since I put up chapter eleven of that story. *Sigh* I've also been going through as many other fics I've promised people I'd read, been recommended, and told "OMG dis story is da best u gota reeed it!" yes, I have had a message like that before – I sincerely hope the person who sent it to me improves their grammar. Seriously. Anyhow…let's just get on with the story…

_Mercy_

_**PS – **_currently musing to _In The City_ by Kevin Rudolf – a really, really good song.

* * *

In the darkness of L's room, he sat at his desk, one knee drawn up to his chest and an arm wrapped absently around it, the DeathNote set on the desk next to him, his laptop open in front of him. Bittersweet stood to one side, watching him with interest. Finally, the Shinigami broke the silence.

'_You seem restless,_' he observed as L chewed on his thumbnail. '_You keep looking at the DeathNote, you keep going over the files on the laptop, and you seem unable to control the eyes – I'd play ten dice rolls to know what you're thinking._'

L cracked a small smile, but didn't look over his shoulder at the Death God. Bittersweet was nothing, if not observant. L let his pale fingers tap a light dance over the surface of the notebook, feeling a cold chill sweep over him, and saw the world for a moment through the burning of the eyes, and then everyone went back into it's right spectrum of colour. Damn, Bittersweet was right – he was having a hard time controlling the Shinigami eyes. L swivelled in his chair and looked up at Bittersweet.

'I don't know, Bittersweet,' he said softly with a sigh, his smile fading and getting replaced with a slight frown. 'Those boys…their real names aren't Mello and Near, I know, I can _see_ their real names. But…there's something different about them. I don't know what, though.'

'_And you're unsure about how to react,_' Bittersweet concluded, and when L shot his raised eyebrows in question, the Shinigami shrugged. '_Watching you over these passed days and few weeks I've been with you, it's not hard to pick up on the fact that you're brooding about what to do next._'

Ah, yes – L remembered about Bittersweet being so observant, and realized that the Shinigami was still right, no matter what.

'I mean,' he said. 'I don't want to kill them or anything – but what if they find the notebook? Or somehow impede on the investigation?'

Bittersweet considered.

'_I understand your concern,_' he agreed. '_But they're only children – don't you think you could bribe them?_'

'Since when has bribing children ever worked?' L asked sourly. 'And besides – from what I've seen of them, they wouldn't take a bribe anyway. They seem much too smart for that.'

Bittersweet nodded, when there was a sudden knock on L's door. He quickly switched on the desk lamp and shoved the notebook into the draw beneath the desk before turning back towards the door.

'Come on in,' he said softly, and the door cracked open, and then a little further, and then again until the figure of Watari stepped in – L wondered briefly why Watari was still awake – it was well passed ten thirty and the moon was high in the sky, blocked out by the drawn curtains, and his guardian was obviously tired.

'L,' he said quietly, coming in and taking a seat on the couch. L swung his chair around to face him, and saw in the dim light that Watari was definitely exhausted – L wondered if the two boys had been any trouble.

'Watari?'

'I've been thinking, L,' Watari said, his elbows resting on his knees. 'Before your mother recalled me to be your guardian, I was on the verge of retiring – there was an old school in Winchester an old friend and I had invested in and set up an orphanage in. I used the funds from what I had acquired as an inventor.'

This news sparked L's ears – he knew little about his mentor's past, and Watari had never mentioned that he had been an inventor. The surprise must have vibrated around the room, as Watari nodded – L saw a small smile creep out from beneath the old man's moustache.

'Yes, even I have a few secrets I've managed to keep from you,' Watari smiled a little more, and L let himself share the smile – it was uncommon for L not to know something about anyone he was close to, but then again, he wasn't close to an awful lot of people. Watari continued, pulling L out of his reverie before he could get too deeply into it. 'And I feel that the orphanage should be the place for Mello and Near.'

'Winchester is a long way away,' L murmured, and Watari nodded.

'Yes, but it's clear that neither of them are Japanese – it would make no sense for them to be here when they have no true understanding of the culture they weren't born into. I also think they are both far too smart for any ordinary orphanage schooling system – I have an idea, and you may or may not like it.' Watari said in all seriousness, but Bittersweet chuckled at L's shoulder.

'_Watch out, L,_' he said softly, sarcasm dripping from the words. '_Watari's about to get really serious._'

L ignored Bittersweet's unusual jibe and focused on his aging, greying guardian.

'What do you have in mind, Watari?' he asked, and Watari cleared his throat quietly before continuing.

'You're not going to live forever, L,' he said, and L blinked – he knew that, why was Watari saying it now? 'And I think it would be best if should you die at an undesirably young age, you should have some sort of successor, or multiple ones.'

In a way, it made sense – and L had a sneaking suspicion that he knew where Watari was going having brought up the orphanage and then the idea of a successor.

'You think Mello or Near would be ideal?'

'Not quite yet – given time, I'm sure they'll both be shining with promise,' Watari said, digging into his pocket, and pulled out a couple of photos. 'But if we were to introduce a new system into the orphanage – the Wammy's House, as it's called,' L suppressed another smile. He would question Watari about the naming of it later. 'We already have promise showing in couple of children that are there already.'

He handed the pictures to L, who took them – in one there showed a young boy – he couldn't have been much older than fifteen, with curly chestnut hair, a spray of freckles across his cheeks and mischievous blue eyes. He was of fairly average height, if not a bit on the round side, and seemed like he had a smile permanently on his face. On the back of the photo was written the name "Ada".

The second photo held a scrawny, gangly youth who could only have been months the first boy's junior. A mop of black hair was wind tossed across the boys slender face, and his skin was almost as pale as L's. Anyone could have labelled him as L's younger brother, if it wasn't for the boy's most fascinating feature; his eyes. Instead of eyes that could have been sky grey or opal blue, they were a sickening blood red – whirlpools of burning red, and from somewhere over L's head, he heard Bittersweet whistle.

'_Shinigami eyes,_' the God of Death murmured, and L knew he would have to focus on the boy later when Watari wasn't present – to see if there was a Shinigami attached to the boy. Momentarily, L mused that had another Shinigami dropped their DeathNote into the human world – had this boy with the sullen expression picked it up and made the eye trade?

Written on the back of the photo of the second boy was the name "Bastian", and L guessed that these were the names of the two boys. Watari was waiting for his reaction, and L merely stowed the images away and asked,

'Bastian – what exactly is his condition?'

Watari looked startled for a moment.

'You-you mean his eyes?'

L nodded, and Watari frowned slightly.

'Well, as far as we know it's not impairing his vision to any extent, but he's very antisocial and where's sunglasses for most of the time he's around the other children. He is incredibly smart, as is Ada, and I believe that these two would be a good starting point as far as successors go.' He said, and L thought about everything Watari had just said – it made sense to do this – and if Mello and Near were transferred to the Wammy's House, they would be safe there and get a good schooling. Because, L reasoned, knowing Watari, the education system would be as good as it came in the United Kingdom. Perhaps Ada or Bastian would be good options as successors, and even if Mello and Near didn't get the chance they'd still have a roof over their heads and a place to call home. Home for L had become the apartment in which Watari had lived – and even though the room he called his own had been a spare that Watari had given him it still felt about as homey as the old one he'd had when he was a child, when his parents had been alive.

'I think you're right, Watari,' L said softly, and Watari let his frown lift. 'I think the sooner the boys get transferred there, the better – I wouldn't want them getting caught up in this case.'

Bittersweet laughed quietly, and L resisted the urge to glare at him, knowing it would only make him look insane in front of Watari. Watari, however, took a deep breath and stood, brushing himself off.

'Well, I hope I'm doing the right thing – by both you and Mello and Near,' he said, and L nodded.

'I believe you are,' he smiled a little. 'I didn't know you were an inventor, though. When did that happen?'

Watari chuckled softly.

'About five years after before I met you. With the publicity I got and the funds that came with the inventions, I was able to sustain the orphanage and give the man I've asked to look after it while I'm here with you enough to keep it going himself.'

'Who is he?' L inquired, his interest perking.

'An old friend I used to go to school with,' his guardian said. 'A man by the name of Roger Ruvie. A couple of years younger than myself, but just as capable. He never pursued the life I did, though, and became a professor at a university. When I became known in the public eye because of my inventions and my work as an agent, we met back up again and decided to put the money towards an orphanage. The end result is as you see.'

L nodded, registering the information and filing it away like he did with everything – tucked it away into a part of his brain for later use and reference. Watari headed for the door, the discussion obviously over.

'Watari,'

The aging gentleman turned. L took in everything about the man – his grey and receding hairline, his gentle blue eyes and his clothes – he was still in his normal pressed pants, white shirt and blazer, but his tie was loose around his neck.

'Yes, L?'

L paused a moment before answering. An idea was formulating inside his head, and he didn't want to rush into things, but he knew he'd have to move quickly if he wanted to catch his mother's killer and find out what happened to his father. Watari bringing the orphanage and the UK gave him an idea.

'I'd like you to do some digging around in the FBI network – see if you can make a list of agents that seem competent, if not slightly decorated, but not too highly. People who'll blend in, won't be recognized easily.'

'Are you thinking of gathering a task force?'

'Something like that – I'd like to see the list as soon as you have it,' Watari nodded and turned to the door again, but L stopped him. 'But Watari –'

'Yes, sir?'

'Sleep, first. Get some rest – it looks like the two boys ran you ragged.'

A gentle smile creased Watari's face, and he nodded to his young charge.

'Will do, sir. You'll have the list by morning.'

Watari left as quietly as he'd come in, and L took the photo's up again, examining the two boys, Ada and Bastian. He donned the Eyes, and saw that Ada had a lifespan that was intact – no Shinigami eyes interference, but Bastian, however, only had a blank space above his name. Ada's lifespan read the numbers 9 54 3 8 2 15, and the place where Bastian's numbers should be was oddly blank.

'Bittersweet,' L murmured, and the Shinigami looked over. 'Does this boy have a Shinigami attached to him?'

Bittersweet scrutinized the photo for a few moments, before shaking his head.

'_Not that I can see or detect,_' he said softly. '_That would mean something else is afoot – something strange. No human has been said to have been born with the Shinigami eyes before – unless…_'

L heard the hesitance in Bittersweet's voice, but he wanted answers, and would press the Shinigami if need be.

'Unless what, Bittersweet?' he asked quietly, and Bittersweet hissed slightly, wind whistling through his sharp, off-white teeth.

'_If my knowledge is correct, this boy, Bastian, is the result of a gamble made by two other Shinigami._' He said, and L blinked – what kind of sick joke was that?

'What gamble?'

'_I don't know everything, but I know the basic story – two Shinigami, named Engel and Krem, gambled that Krem, the male of the two, wouldn't be able to win in a fight with the Shinigami King._'

Shinigami King…Bittersweet had mentioned him once or twice before, and was apparently supposed to incomprehensible – too terrifying and unbelievable to describe.

'Why would they bet on something like that?' L asked, and Bittersweet shrugged.

'_I don't know. Boredom is a common illness among Shinigami – but their wager was that if Krem couldn't beat the Shinigami King, he had to give up his eyes and throw them into the human world. Engel knew he couldn't win, so she place the bet as high as she could – a Shinigami's most prized possession in the Shinigami realm other than their DeathNote is their eyes._' Bittersweet said. '_Krem, being the fool he was, accepted it and was, indeed, defeated, and severely punished by the Shinigami King. Engel revived him by using his DeathNote to kill several humans, guiding his hand to write their names. But she held him to his word, and so he gouged out his own eyes and threw them into the human world. I heard somewhere that he tried to crush them in an effort to cheat Engel, but she forced him to throw them down. Somehow, his eyes must have come into contact with Bastian's mother while she was pregnant, and were transferred to Bastian._'

'Meaning that Bastian now has the Shinigami eyes. Meaning he now sees every lifespan of every person he passes.' L finished, and Bittersweet nodded.

'_Yes – except you, of course,_' he said, and L shrugged.

'Of course.' There was silence between teen and Death God for a couple of minutes as L continued to study the two photos. Both boys looked quite average apart from Bastian's eyes, but if they were as Watari said they were, they would both make incredible heirs and successors. Then, L noticed something was off about Bastian's photo – the name on the back wasn't the same as the name he saw floating above the boys head.

'_Another mystery, L,_' Bittersweet said with a smirk, looking over his shoulder. '_Looks like you'll have your hands full for the next good while._'

* * *

_**AfterNote:**_

Yay! Chapter 12 is FINALLY DONE! Woot! I kept looking at it for ages, thinking "I really should update", and it was originally a scene between L, Mello and Near, but then I got this brain wave and I realized I needed to set up the Wammy House and actually introduce it round about now, so to save confusion later on. *Phew!* oh well, now onto 13! ^_^ unlucky thirteen…heh heh…see you next chapter!

– _Mercy_


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